


Frozen Emerald Eyes

by SilentGhostWriter2017



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animagus Cedric Diggory, Animagus Harry Potter, Animagus Hermione Granger, BAMF Harry Potter, Black Hermione Granger, Blood Magic, Cold-Hearted Harry, Elemental Magic, F/M, Fred Weasley Lives, Gray Harry Potter, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Hufflepuff Harry Potter, Important plot points will still be adhered to, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Remus Lupin Lives, Ron Weasley Bashing, Slow Burn, Stoic Harry Potter, The Dursleys are killed off almost immediately, he warms up eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2020-01-15 11:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18497833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentGhostWriter2017/pseuds/SilentGhostWriter2017
Summary: 5-year-old Harry Potter kills his abusive relatives in cold blood. He disappears without a trace, only to reappear at Hogwarts for his first year. But he is not the golden Boy-Who-Lived everyone has thought him out to be. With spades of street-smarts and self-awareness, an ice-cold heart and a broken soul, young Harry is going to take the Magical world by storm, rewrite history, and change the direction of fate for both the Light and the Dark.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Harry Potter, the characters, or related content. Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. I do not profit from this story, and it's purpose is merely for entertainment.

Innocence. Sweet, warm innocence. The very essence the soul of each child born into this world is made of. Pure, and untainted. Many religions and great men of the ages have spoken or written in great detail of the goodness each child carries into existence. Unmarred, faultless and flawless to the eyes gazed upon them.

 

However, such innocence can never last.

 

It is never the fault of the child. It is never the fault of an innocent being born into a harsh, cruel, and unforgiving world. It is never the fault of a soul being slowly exposed by the ugliness of life. That once pure, unmarred soul becoming blemished and sullied with time and experience.

 

It is a natural, if unfortunate, part of life. Society, unlike the soul of a new-born child, is imperfect. Conflict, hate, and everything equally terrible happen everyday, everywhere. The more the child is exposed to this miasma of destruction, the more innocence is lost.

 

For a good many, the process is slow, gradual over years. As they grow up, the children are exposed to the evil of the world, little by little. By adulthood, the innocence once held dear is all but gone.

 

But for some, a grimmer path awaits. Circumstances, often beyond their control, thrusts them into a world where they are forced to grow up, far too early, far too quickly. A gradual adjustment from innocence to knowledge is sped up, leaving no room for happiness, laughter or joy.

 

And when the soul is exposed to untold multitudes of despair, pain and hatred without a positive buffer, it cracks, fracturing under the weight of life. Too much, and it will shatter, bringing forth untold horrors for those who inflicted the damage.

 

You may ask yourself, how could anyone go through such an existence?

 

More than you’d care to think.

 

There are many, scattered all over the world. Many are hidden, some in plain sight, or forcibly by others.

 

One of them…a certain Harry Potter.

 

* * *

 

 

From barely a year old, little Harry Potter was forced to grow up. An epitome of the world’s hatred, fear and anger, Lord Voldemort, stole his parents away and left him an orphan, when the Killing Curse that was meant for him, rebounded and destroyed this inhuman figure.

 

Barely hours later, he is unceremoniously dumped on the doorstep of his mother’s magic-hating, muggle sister, Petunia Dursley, and her magic-hating, muggle family. From that moment, the very innocence in Harry’s unblemished soul was slowly corroded, slowly descending him into darkness.

 

For you see, Petunia and her walrus of a husband, Vernon, were no saints. From the moment Harry could walk and talk, he was treated as a slave, not as a young child to be cherished and loved. He was hardly fed, made to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, forced to wear thread-bare, loose clothes, and made to do the household chores from dawn to dusk, rain or shine, hot or cold. The Dursleys even went so far as to not call him by his name, preferring the more dehumanizing “Boy!” or “Freak!”

 

Any tears, cries or pleas were met with blows. From the fist, belt, whatever was in hand, was used whenever Harry complained, or did something wrong. Even getting the toast slightly burnt was rewarded with a beating, days without food, and time in the cupboard.

 

The Dursleys, like Lord Voldemort, were the worst of what the world and life could offer. And such evilness trickled down to the offspring.

 

Their only son, Dudley, as fat as his walrus of a father, was taught to hate Harry and see him as nothing more than the freak they saw him to be. Dudley revelled in abusing Harry, at home, school, or even on the street. ‘Harry-Hunting’ – a game where they chased after Harry and beat him up viciously when they catch him – was the favourite pastime of Dudley and his friends, alongside threatening anyone who dared show the freak any sliver of kindness, keeping him alone and friendless.

 

No one intervened. The teachers were apathetic, merely sending a bloody and bruised Harry to the nurse, who for all accounts saw him as a patient who needed patching up. Nothing else, nothing more, nothing less.

 

Poor little Harry Potter. It was him against the world. A cruel, indifferent world that took sick delight in beating him down, destroying his innocence and fracturing his soul.

 

Until one day, his soul became too fractured to sustain itself any longer. Like a pane of glass, it shattered, his innocence crumbling to dust. From the debris, the darkness within him rose, all sign of the innocent child within him gone. For those who had wronged little Harry, vengeance will rain down hard, brutal, and merciless.

 

* * *

 

It started during a round of ‘Harry-Hunting’. Harry was being chased around the school by Dudley and his friends. Harry was still bruised from the blows and kicks by his uncle, who had come home from work drunk the night before. He was in pain, his young bones and what little muscle he had screaming in agony.

 

Dudley and his gang were gaining on him. Any closer, and it would be more blows and kicks to exacerbate his wounded body. Harry thought to himself, someone, something, please, save him.

 

_Please, save him._

Suddenly, there was a loud sound, of something rupturing and breaking. There were screams, as something fell. There was a loud crash, and the screams grew louder.

 

Still running, Harry ducked behind a large rubbish bin, making himself as small as possible, hoping Dudley and his gang would run by and not notice him. One moment passed, then another, and another. No one came, but the screaming continued. Slowly opening his eyes, Harry carefully peeked around the bin to check the coast. He could see Dudley, but the fat whale of a cousin was not looking at him.

 

No, he, as well as everyone else in the playground, were staring at a macabre scene in front of their innocent eyes.

 

What had caused that rupturing noise was a large pipe of the school’s rain gutter, running up the length of the school-building’s walls, from the ground to the roof. It had broken free from its bolts, crumpled at the base, and pulled the gutter down with it. It collapsed like a house of cards, falling right onto Dudley’s best friend Piers Polkiss, and Dennis, a member of the gang.

 

Harry stared at the sight of two five-year-old boys crushed under the pile of twisted metal, blood seeping from their broken, lifeless bodies and mixing into the earth. The children were screaming and wailing. The teachers were frantically trying to pull the pipe off the two boys and calling for an ambulance. Dudley was just standing there, too shocked to react that two of his friends were dead.

 

It was chaos, and Harry was spellbound. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, not that he wanted to. He marvelled at the demise of two of his tormentors, a single thought crossing his mind, something his aunt or uncle would often scream at him whenever he did something “wrong” and was punished for it.

 

‘They deserve it.’

 

As he watched the scene with morbid interest, Harry failed to notice that his emerald-green eyes were glowing faintly.

 

 

Little Harry was never the same again, after witnessing the death of Piers and Dennis. He was curious. He wondered, what caused the pipe to fall? Was it a bad accident as the teachers called it? Or was it something else, something otherworldly?

 

It was too much of a coincidence, after all, that the pipe collapsed when he was desperately wishing for something to save him.

 

Was it…him? Did he cause the pipe to fall?

 

Surely not, he was only a child, and he had run past the pipe without touching it. How could he had caused the pipe to collapse?

 

Or…maybe it was him.

 

After all, his aunt and uncle used to scream at him about “bringing in that freakish magic into our normal home!” whenever they beat him. Perhaps that was what caused the pipe to kill Piers and Dennis? Magic?

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

Harry had to find out.

 

* * *

 

It had been a long time coming - several months in fact, with plenty of practice (all hidden, mind you, he didn’t want to get beaten by his relatives again) on every manner of objects, starting from the lightest of things such as a paper clip or a needle, to heavier items like books and chairs. But Harry had done it. He had discovered he had magic, and he had tamed it to his control.

 

He could now move and manipulate items at his will, as if an unseen figure was moving them. Harry was so excited; he was now at the fun stage, planning. What should he do…to get himself out of this hellhole?

 

* * *

 

 

Night had fallen, and the last lights of Number 4, Privet Drive had been extinguished as the Dursleys went to bed. Loud snoring echoing from upstairs was the signal Harry needed. His plan was now a go-ahead.

 

It didn’t matter that Vernon had locked the door to the cupboard before going to bed. Harry simply tuned his magic to unlock it without any problems. A simple lock wasn’t going to stall the Dursleys from meeting their maker, after all.

 

Pushing the door open, Harry crawled out from the cupboard, got up, and stretched. Hearing the satisfying pop of his joints, Harry relaxed with a sigh. He turned towards the kitchen, he needed to get his implements.

 

Harry stepped inside the moonlit kitchen. His eyes, now glowing noticeably in the semi-darkness, rested on the knife-block, holding seven knives of different sizes and different uses. But they had one common use tonight. They were vital in the success of his plan.

 

Harry outstretched his arm, aiming his hand at the knife-block. The knife handles quivered, before withdrawing one by one from the block. They floated over to Harry, blades pointed at the floor. Harry withdrew his hand, focusing the magic through his eyes and mind. The knives stayed in the air, following him as he turned around and retreated from the kitchen towards the stairs.

 

Slowly, Harry climbed each step one at a time. The stairs creaked and groaned when too much force was put down. And besides, what’s the point of rushing? Sure, freedom awaited, but Harry wanted to savour each moment of his vengeance. They did him wrong, so he ought to return the favour multiple fold.

 

His shadow glided past the sickening photographs of what would be a normal family hanging on the wall along the stairs. Harry didn’t need to glance at them to know the occupants were smiling. Well, he knew that after tonight, there won’t be any smiles from the family the photographs captured. But…then again, they will continue to serve as memories of happier times, especially after tonight.

 

Harry reached the top landing, knives slowly halting behind him. He now had a choice to make. His aunt and uncle first? Or his cousin first?

 

Best ought to deal with the source of all his troubles first, wouldn’t it? His aunt and uncle were the reason why Harry was broken, beating him, starving him, screaming at him and calling him those horrid names. They were the real evil-doers, the real freaks, not him. They had to go first. They needed to be punished.

 

Harry stepped towards his relative’s bedroom door. Keeping his magic on the knives, Harry sent a tendril of magic towards the doorknob, latching onto it and turning it slowly. The door unhitched, and opened without so much as a sound. There was nothing holding back the full volume of the snores from Vernon. As much as it disgusted little Harry, it suited him well, that meant any sound he made would be covered by the awful din.

 

At the back of his mind, he wondered how his aunt Petunia could even sleep with all that noise from her walrus of a husband. But it didn’t matter, her sleep wouldn’t be disturbed anytime soon when he was done.

 

Harry raised his hand, fingers splayed open. The knives floated over him, hovering over his aunt and uncle. Harry folded his thumb into his palm, and the bedroom door slammed shut.

 

Petunia and Vernon were thrust out of their slumber, shooting up from the mattress and gazing about furtively for a moment in confusion. Their confusion gave way to fury when they saw Harry, eyes glowing, hand outstretched, at the foot of their bed.

 

“FREAK! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU-”

 

Harry folded his pinkie in.

 

Vernon’s shout was cut off when an unseen force pushed him and his wife back down onto the mattress. They struggled ragingly, but they couldn’t get back up. The force holding them down was too strong. Harry folded his ring finger in as both began to shout and scream. This wouldn’t do. He didn’t want Dudley or the neighbours to wake up from the din, after all. They might try and stop his vengeance.

 

“YOU DISGUSTING LITTLE MONSTER! I’LL-”

 

Any shout or scream was unceremoniously silenced by the Dursley’s lips being physically sealed shut, as if closed by a zipper. Loud, incomprehensible sounds slammed against the Dursleys’ fused mouths, their limbs flailing about wildly in a futile attempt to fight against the invisible weight holding them down. Harry folded his middle finger in.

 

Suddenly, the Dursleys’ limbs went rigid, and snapped to their sides like stiff puppets. They couldn’t move. The force had enveloped their entire bodies to hold them in place, as if they were being mummified. The only things moving were their eyes amidst the almost inaudible noises of half-formed shouts and screams. They looked up, and their eyes stilled, the colour draining from their faces as they noticed what was hovering over them.

 

The knives, with the blades shimmering in the moonlight, pointing down straight at them. Muffled screams raced from their throats and gathered in their mouths.

 

Harry remained impassive, eyes glowing as he folded in the last finger, his index, and knives hurtled straight towards the Dursleys in a final act of vengeance.

 

* * *

 

About ten minutes later, the bedroom door squeaked open. Little Harry emerged from the room, a few splatters of crimson dotting his face and clothes. The knives had once again fallen into place behind him, blades stained and dripping with the same crimson fluid.

 

Harry felt…light. Like a great burden had been lifted from his broken soul. Watching the spectacle from before was entertaining enough, but it left him satisfied knowing his aunt and uncle got what monsters like them deserved.

 

But Harry couldn’t run just yet. He had one more target, Dudley.

 

His cousin’s bedroom was just down the hall. Dudley had actually _two_ bedrooms to his name, but Harry didn’t need to check both to know which one his oafish cousin was in. If anything, Dudley inherited his father’s appearance, and snores.

 

Harry almost chuckled. He had wondered if slamming his aunt and uncle’s bedroom door would have woken the bastard up. But it seemed like Dudley’s snores were also loud enough to mask over any noises from outside, even if it signified his impending demise.

 

Steeling his face into the blank look he used on his aunt and uncle, Harry came to Dudley’s bedroom. Here, he repeated the procedure. He let a tendril of magic open the door, and he would step inside, knives following. He would reach the foot of his cousin’s bed, outstretch his hand, and the knives would float over him to hover over Dudley. Harry folded his thumb in, and the door slammed shut, waking his cousin.

 

The process repeated itself, and also within ten minutes, it was over.

 

Harry emerged from Dudley’s bedroom, though this time, the knives didn’t follow him out. Leaving the door ajar, Harry blinked as the realization that he was finally free slowly sunk in.

 

He could’ve danced, he could’ve sang his heart out over his plan’s smooth execution. But he did neither. He saw no reason to be so frivolous and silly. His freedom was waiting, after all.

 

And, his plan was not quite finished yet.

 

* * *

 

Harry gazed at the wallet in his hand, his lips slightly pursed in a thoughtful twist. Inside it, contained all the hard, physical money that the Dursleys had hidden all around the house, from inconspicuous places, like buried in the soil of a flower pot, to little nooks and crannies all over. After going through every single hiding spot (Harry would always discretely watch his now late relatives hide money in those places and he would make a mental note about it), the wallet now contained a few thousand quid. Enough for some time, and frankly, Harry wasn’t really too worried about running out of money and going hungry.

 

After all, he had magic.

 

But Harry was not naïve. If he wanted to survive, he needed to get out of Little Whinging. London was the closet city from here, but Harry knew all sorts of dangers awaited even being out in the streets of Little Whinging at night. He had to be careful. He had to make sure his magic could adapt to desperate times and dangerous moments.

 

But first, the last stage of his plan.

 

Pocketing the wallet, Harry glanced about the living room. It still looked ordinary, perfectly normal for a house like this. If one could ignore the trails of a certain flammable liquid streaking in all directions, running off towards the kitchens and up the stairs to the floor above where the carnage lay, that is.

 

It’s a shame, Harry thought for a moment, that so much good furniture was about to be blown apart. But he had spent many an hour cleaning those furniture, and for that, they carried the same filth as his late relatives. They weren’t worth anything in Harry’s eyes now, just firewood at this point.

 

Harry walked out of the living room into the hallway, a padded jacket hanging limply on the staircase banister. It had been one of Dudley’s, and if he was being honest with himself, Harry didn’t want to wear something owned by the late oaf. But it was cold out tonight, and even if Harry could manipulate his magic to warm himself, he couldn’t hold it forever. A necessary evil, the jacket was.

 

Putting it on, Harry went to the front door and opened it. A cold blast of wind swept into the hallway, but the jacket did its job well. Because it was one of Dudley’s, it went so far down that it skimmed the ground where Harry stood. But lucky him, more protection from the cold, at least.

 

Turning back into the hallway, Harry dug into the jacket pocket, and pulled out a matchbox. Pulling one out, he struck it alight, and with a nonchalant look, tossed it onto the spot where the kerosene ended a few paces behind him.

 

Immediately, there was a _whoosh_ as the kerosene ignited, the flames hungrily snapping up the volatile fuel and spreading into the house. Harry quickly stepped out and closed the door behind him. Already, he could see the glow of the flames behind the curtained windows as the fire started ravaging the living room. He needed to move, now.

 

Harry quickly darted out of the front gate, and took off down Privet Drive towards Magnolia Crescent. It connected to Magnolia Road which led to an outer road, which in turn deviated away from Little Whinging itself, burrowing through a small hill, corkscrewed up the hill, and joined the main highway running adjacent to the town.

 

That was where Harry needed to go.

 

He reached Magnolia Road relatively quickly, and unscathed too. He was walking along the pavement next to a playground where all but one of the swings has been damaged (courtesy of the late Dudley and his gang), when in the distance, an almighty _BANG_ rocked the night.

 

Harry paused, as he watched a fireball rise into the air with great plumes of smoke. Lights from people’s houses were being flickered on, and there were distant shouts and screams, along with the wailing of sirens. Harry knew what had happened, the flames must have breached the fuel tank in the stove and caused an explosion that most likely obliterated Number 4, Privet Drive to the ground.

 

‘Well,’ he thought to himself, ‘rest in pieces you monsters.’

 

With a final shrug, Harry continued on his way. He reached the underpass, and followed the corkscrew turn up to the highway. As Little Whinging rose to fire and smoke, little Harry Potter disappeared into the darkness, never to be seen or heard from for the next several years.

 

* * *

**To Be Continued.**

* * *

 

 


	2. Plans Astray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore is blissfully ignorant, Trelawney predicts a future that throws everything into disarray, and Sprout's expectations of the Boy-Who-Lived are immediately frozen during their first meeting, six years after he disappeared.

Meanwhile, many miles north in the Scottish Highlands, in the world-renowned Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sitting in his grand office feeling decidedly content in one of the many turrets of the magical castle, was a certain Albus “too-many-middle-names” Dumbledore, headmaster of the school, Chief Warlock of Magical Britain’s government, the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, the magical equivalent of the United Nations.

 

Tonight had been a quiet, peaceful night, something Dumbledore cherished with a relish. When he could just sit back, relax, and contemplate the events of the day and those that had long passed.

 

The past few days had been just like this, normal and routine. But precisely a week prior, an incident over cursed ice spreading through a corridor and ensnaring a Gryffindor second-year, Ben Copper, had reached his ears. McGonagall and Snape were able to get poor Mr. Copper out of the ice, and after a few days in the infirmary, he was declared fit to return to his lessons by Madam Pomfrey.

 

But that was long past. As far as Dumbledore knew, the ice had been contained, and normality had returned to Hogwarts. Now, he could simply wile time away before bed, amidst the clicking, ticking, buzzing, popping sounds of the many contraptions that graced cabinets along the walls of his office.

 

The old headmaster released a contented sigh. And in his mind, he had every right to be contented. Harry Potter was in the secure hold of his muggle relatives, away from the fame and attention he would have garnered should he stay in the wizarding world. Dumbledore had known the Dursleys hated magic and would have not taken kindly to little Harry Potter, offspring of Petunia’s magical sister, Lily, being left in their care on their doorstep.

 

But that was what he wanted. Dumbledore wanted little Harry to be mistreated, beaten down, starved of affection and kindness. So that when it was time to reintroduce him to the wizarding world, he would, in his awe of such a magical existence, head straight towards the first adult to ever show him kindness, himself. Little Harry Potter would be pliant, bend to his will, and do as he is told, in return for such affection and care that he was deprived for a decade.

 

Harry Potter will be shaped into the ultimate weapon for the Light, for Dumbledore knew that the Dark Lord, Voldemort, was not truly dead. Vanquished, but not dead, after the Killing Curse meant for little Harry rebounded and destroyed his mortal body, forcing his spirit to flee into the night. Dumbledore knew that Voldemort will one day rise again. So Harry Potter needed to be trained for that day.

 

And when the saviour of the wizarding world finally destroyed the Dark Lord for good, he will become the figurehead for the Light. The Dark will be no more, as he, Albus Dumbledore, through Harry, turns magical Britain permanently towards the Light. No more will there be conflict; peace and love in his vision of the Greater Good will rein supreme.

 

Dumbledore smiled to himself. Indeed, that was such a promising future. And he could almost see it on the horizon. He just needed to play his cards right.

 

But then again, he was Albus Dumbledore, after all. And he always played his cards right, and gets what he wants.

 

Dumbledore casted a _Tempus_ charm – 10:20 pm – it was getting late. He should retire to his bed for the night.

 

And so he did. The great wizard stood up from his desk, and departed from his office, wordlessly extinguishing the candles, plunging the room into darkness.

 

As Dumbledore jovially retired to his quarters, he just missed one of the many gadgets dotted around his office, which was keyed to the blood wards surrounding Number 4, Privet Drive, ringing in alarm, as at the same time, an explosion obliterated the house. As thousands of miles south, the remains of the house crumbled into the blazing inferno, taking the Dursley family with it, the gadget glowed red, and fell silent, signalling the collapse of the wards.

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, in the North Tower of Hogwarts castle, the slumber of a certain Divination professor was disturbed as her eyes snapped open, glassy and unstaring.

 

Sybill Trelawney rose up from her bed, unblinkingly, and spoke in a low, monotonous voice.

 

**“Balance has been disrupted**

**Light and Dark fight for control**

**But a futile battle it be**

**For one cannot survive without the other**

**Knowing not of this cruel fate**

**Opposing forces fight for dominance and power**

**When one wins, magic will crumble**

**Dooming us all to fire and destruction**

**Only one has the power**

**To save us from such a fate**

**He is the equal marked by the Dark Lord**

**Slowly growing in the night**

**He, along with two loves**

**Will rid the Lords of the Light and Dark**

**To restore the delicate balance**

**And ensure peace and prosperity**

**Balance has been disrupted**

**And only he, can save us all”**

The ominous words faded away. Trelawney blinked, glancing about in a haze of confusion. Seemingly finding nothing out of the ordinary, the Divination professor laid back onto her bed. Within minutes, she was asleep, leaving no indication of the fate-altering prophecy she just made.

 

 

* * *

 

**6 Years Later…**

* * *

 

The first month of the summer of 1991 came as it would have. For Dumbledore, this meant the usual routine of sending out the Hogwarts letters to all the incoming first-years of the new school term. There was a tinge of excitement in the headmaster’s twinkling eyes, Harry Potter had would be turning eleven at the end of July, which meant he would be amongst the new students stepping into Hogwarts for the first time.

 

Dumbledore always took a little bit of time off to oversee the magical quill write out each incoming student’s name and address onto the envelope holding a standard, pre-written letter dictated by his deputy, Professor Minerva McGonagall, and a list of books and supplies needed for their first year.

 

The quill went by alphabetical order according to family name. By the time it reached ‘P’, Dumbledore had a gleeful grin stretching his wizened face. Slowly, it wrote out Harry’s name, and moved to his address.

 

Then came the first sign that something was not quite right.

 

The address the quill wrote did not say “Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey”. Instead, it wrote an obscure address somewhere in Peckham, London.

 

Momentarily surprised, Dumbledore did a second take at the address. He performed a verification charm on the quill, which showed no sign of malfunction, and again on the address, which did not change as he expected it to.

 

Dumbledore tapped a finger against his desk while stroking his beard. It was strange, very strange indeed. Why didn’t the quill, if it was functioning normally, write out the address where he left Harry at ten years prior?

 

A thought occurred to him, and Dumbledore relaxed. The Dursleys must be staying in their summer home in London, and had taken Harry with them. Of course that would explain the change of address, he reasoned with himself. Not once did any other possibility infiltrate the wise, all-knowing mind of Albus Dumbledore.

 

One of the school’s owl flew into the office. Dumbledore held the letter up for the bird to catch it in its talons, and watched serenely as the owl flew out of his office and into the sky.

 

 

What Dumbledore had, foolishly, not thought of was where exactly Peckham was in London, and its overall state compared to other areas of the capital.

 

For one, Peckham was one of London’s poorest, dilapidated, and crime-riddled districts. Unemployment and gang activity was rife, with muggings, stabbings, drug activities and gun violence being the law of the land. The sight that greeted the owl was that of dreariness. Buildings and houses stood abandoned, boarded up, and in all stages of decay. Shops and businesses stood empty. Teenagers who should have been in school were loitering around in groups, smoking and taking drugs, while other lone stragglers roamed about or laid about everywhere one can imagine.

 

Already, the owl knew it had come to a dangerous place. It had to dodge a plate that came sailing out of someone’s window due to a domestic spat. It was startled and almost fell out of the sky a couple of times when the sound of gunfire spooked the poor bird. And many times, it witnessed humans attacking other humans, more often than not ending in blood being spilt.

 

Finally, it reached its destination. It was a row of two-storeyed buildings, the ground floor holding what was supposed to be shops or businesses, and the upper floor residential housing. Of the entire row, the only shop opened for business was a small convenience store that had seen better times. The rest were all boarded up and empty. The residential homes were occupied, but by squatters and gang members.

 

The owl swooped down to the second-floor window of the one of the homes. Without any delay, the bird rapped its beak against the glass.

 

For a few moments, nothing happened, so it pecked at the glass again. This time, there was some movement and noise, followed by footsteps and a figure approaching the window. There was a rattle as the pane was pulled to one side against the rusty rail upon which is sat on. The owl swooped into the room, which resembled a cluttered office, dropping the letter onto a desk before landing on it itself.

 

The owl hooted, eyes trained on the figure who let it in.

 

“Hm…so it finally came, huh?”

 

The bird of prey quietly watched the figure, a male with long hair tied in a ponytail that fell over his shoulders and halfway down his back, stepped away from the window and took a seat at the desk. He picked up the envelope, examined the name and address written on the front. Flipping it over, he broke the wax seal, and pulled out the letter and supplies list. Tossing the envelope to one side, his attention focused on the contents.

 

For several minutes, silence permeated the room, aside from the occasional rush of a passing car or a calm hoot from the owl. The bird studied the male, his eyes shifting slowly over the written words. There is a short rustle as the male shuffled the list to the front, carefully reading the contents. After another few minutes, he set both papers down, and turned to the waiting owl.

 

“I guess I should give the old bastard a response, eh?”

 

The owl merely hooted, ruffling its feathers.

 

The male pulled out a blank sheet of paper from a stack on the desk. Taking a ball-point pen, he spent the next minute or so writing a short reply. Pulling out a blank envelope from a drawer, he slid the paper into it, sealed it, and held it over to the owl.

 

“Here, take this back to the senile motherfucker.”

 

The owl hooted one last time, flapping its wings and taking off from the desk. It circled the room, before swooping down towards the letter. Grabbing it with its talons, the owl shot off out of the window and back into the sky.

 

Watching it grow smaller and smaller until it disappeared from sight, the male stood up from his seat, stepping towards the window. One hand raised and rested on the pane, unmoving. He stared up towards the sky where the owl had flown off into. His unoccupied hand reached to gently grip a gold-chain pendant with a teardrop emerald at its centre.

 

“Well Jacob, looks like it’s my turn soon.”

 

With that, the male slid the window pane shut, and retreated back into his office.

 

* * *

 

Pomona Sprout couldn't be more surprised when she arrived at her destination. Not too long ago, she had been summoned to Dumbledore’s office. There, she was given the task of meeting _Harry Potter_ , of all people, and escorting him to Diagon Alley to collect his school supplies.

 

When asked why she given the task out of curiosity, Dumbledore explained he had business with the Ministry. Rubeus Hagrid, the groundskeeper, was currently incapacitated in the infirmary (for what reason Dumbledore didn’t specify) for the next several days, and the other prospective would-be guides, Flitwick and McGonagall, had their own charges to visit. And there was no need to guess why Snape was not chosen. The greasy-haired potions master and head of Slytherin house wouldn’t come near the son of James Potter with a ten-foot pole if given the choice. Sprout knew that, after all, Snape and the elder Potter were her Herbology students once.

 

As such, the task fell on her shoulders.

 

Sprout was also told by Dumbledore to ease young Harry slowly into the wizarding world. The boy had lived with his muggle relatives for virtually his entire life, as such it could be certainly said that he would have no prior knowledge of magic, or his status in their world.

 

Armed with that information and the Peckham address, Sprout used the headmaster’s fireplace to floo to the Leaky Cauldron pub in London. From there, she apparated to the exact address in Peckham.

 

It was after regained her bearings did Sprout register her surroundings, and that’s what surprised her.

 

Before leaving the Leaky Cauldron, she had the mental image of an ordinary London suburb, with identical terraced houses and manicured lawns, adults and children going about on their daily business. Instead, she was greeted with a picture of bleak dreariness.

 

Just like the owl before her, Sprout faced a world of poverty, squalor and crime. The same boarded up houses and shops, gangs roaming the streets looking for trouble or drugs, the occasional gunfire going off in the distance. Not quite the place she expected the Boy-Who-Lived to be residing in.

 

But a quick look at the street sign and the row of abandoned shops across from her confirmed that it was the right place. Harry Potter was indeed staying here.

 

To her left, down the litter-strewed pavement, Sprout heard the sound of scuffling and curse words going off like the bullets occasionally fired in the distance. Two young men, appearing drunk off their arses, were punching up one another in an inebriated free-for-all, blood seeping freely from broken noses and cut lips. The Herbology professor quickly put a “notice-me-not” charm on herself.

 

Leaving the two drunkards to whoop each others’ arses, Sprout quickly crossed the street to the shops, before cancelling the charm. She reached the last shop at the end of the row, the rusty numbering on the door concealing a staircase which led to the second floor indicating the exact place of residence of the Boy-Who-Lived.

 

Sprout would have immediately entered, had it not been for a boy in his early teens, dressed in a sleeveless hoodie and ripped sweatpants, a lit cigarette in one hand and a metal bat in the other, who spotted her. His eyes narrowed.

 

“What’cha looking at, lady?”

 

Momentarily taken aback, Sprout quickly schooled her expression into a professional seriousness. While she had magic on hand, it was imperative she show no weakness.

 

“Young man, may I enquire if a Mr. Potter lives here?”

 

“We ain’t have no Mr. Potter here, lady,” the teen narrowed his eyes.

 

Sprout tried again, “Well, do you know if a boy named Harry lives here?”

 

The teen’s eyes remained narrow, but a gleam of suspicion had flashed over the irises.

 

“What business do ya have with the King?”

 

Momentarily surprised at the title, Sprout pushed forward, “We received a letter from Harry in response to our letter of acceptance to a school in Scotland. I was instructed to meet him today.”

 

The Herbology professor ensured that any mention of magic was omitted from her description of Hogwarts, not wanting to break the Statute of Secrecy in front of the muggle lad. Either way, the teen relaxed a little, the bat lowering to his side. He tossed the lit cigarette away.

 

“Wait here.”

 

Without a glance back, he disappeared up the staircase. Sprout patiently waited for the teen’s return. She heard muffled, almost inaudible voices coming from up the stairs, followed by footsteps descending and growing louder. The teen reappeared at the doorway.

 

“Follow me.”

 

Sprout wasted no time. She followed the teen up the stairs, the steps groaning and creaking from the lack of maintenance. She entered an extremely messy room that she could only guess used to be a living space. Several more boys, no older than the one currently leading her through, were huddled in small groups, doing exactly what Sprout could only imagine. They all stopped whatever they were doing to stare at her as she crossed the room, but she paid the attention no mind.

 

The teen leading her stopped at a nondescript wooden door, and knocked loudly.

 

_“Yes?”_ came a muffled voice.

 

“Yo King! Some bitch from Scotland is here to see ya. Something about attending school there,” the teen called through.

 

Sprout was affronted by the insult, but held her tongue.

 

_“Send her in.”_

The teen opened the door, gave Sprout one last glance, before going on his way back into the living space and down the stairs. The Herbology professor stepped into room, taking in the general organised mess the room was.

 

It was a cross between an office and a bedroom, layered by clutters of who-knows-what, a single light installed on the ceiling. There was a bed, frame slightly rusted, but otherwise kept in good condition with the mattress, sheets and pillow appearing just washed and crisped. Opposite the bed towards the right, was a simple dresser littered with papers, folders and books. Adjacent to the bed, was one long bookshelf which ran all the way to the opposite window, stuffed with even more folders, papers, books; several of which were poking out haphazardly.

 

The only thing that didn’t appear to be messy was the mahogany desk placed adjacent to the window, holding stacked trays for papers, a penholder, and a writing pad. And standing by the desk, back to her and gazing out the window, was a pre-teen boy with black hair, wearing a white dress shirt, black slacks, and suspenders.

 

Sprout cleared her throat.

 

“Good morning, you must be Harry Potter. I’m-”

 

“Pomona Sprout, Herbology professor at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” the boy cut her off, “Yes, I know who you are.”

 

She hadn’t expected that.

 

He turned away from the window to face her in earnest, and Sprout couldn’t shake the sight of the boy’s emerald irises glimmering with such frigid coldness that they could rival the arctic circle in the midst of a blizzard.

 

“And I know why you’re here too.”

 

Sprout could almost feel the temperature of the room plummet.

 

“So let’s get started, shall we?”

 

* * *

**To Be Continued.**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh...how long has this story been collecting dust for?
> 
> Anyway, ever since I downloaded the Harry Potter: Wizards Unite game, my interest in J.K. Rowling's magical world has been reignited. And I figured, why not chuck a chapter or so into this stagnant pond to get the journey moving?
> 
> Also, I need your preliminary thoughts on how cold is Harry being right now. Too cold? Not cold enough? Just right? Please let me know.
> 
> Finally, the usual protocol, your feedback and kudos are greatly appreciated, flaming will not be tolerated.
> 
> Cheers everyone,
> 
> \- SilentGhostWriter2017


	3. A Trip Down Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sprout gets to know a Harry totally unlike what she had expected. What follows is an interesting and certainly informative shopping trip to Diagon Alley for Harry's school supplies.

“So let’s get started, shall we?”

Sprout was still stunned by the unexpected turn of events. Harry moved away from his desk towards the door, only to stop when he noticed the Herbology professor hadn’t moved an inch.

“Professor? Let’s go.”

That snapped her back into reality.

“Oh, my apologies, Mr. Potter, I was just surprised that you knew who I was.”

‘And how cold you appear to be,’ Sprout added inwardly as an afterthought, ‘Nothing like I was expecting…’

Indeed, Harry was not what the older woman had visualised. Before arriving in Peckham, she had imagined the boy to be just like any average eleven-year-old living a normal life with his muggle relatives. Perhaps even a carbon-copy of his father, getting into all kinds of mischief and hijinks. That had been completely thrown out of the window within the first minute of their introduction.

Sprout could already see that young Harry was by far not a copy of his late father. The usually short, curly and messy Potter hair was straightened and long, the top pulled back into a ponytail falling along the unrestrained bottom that flowed down to his waist, his fringe the only part that retained some degree of curliness. His emerald eyes, unmarred by the lack of spectacles and ones Sprout remembered of his late mother’s, bore the same steadiness and strength, but was overwhelmed by the frigid iciness and hard-as-a-stone aura she came to realise that the child possessed. His height was mystifying, standing about a head taller than the average 11-year-old. He was also very broad-shouldered for someone his age.

And there was nothing carefree, arrogant or boastful about Harry either. The boy carried himself with cold poise and dignity, something Sprout would have associated with the head of a traditional pureblood house, or a muggle from a high standing in centuries past. His tone was polite, but frigidly so.

Harry merely nodded, turning towards the door, “This is merely a formality, just so you know, Professor. Thought I'd humour that old son of a whore before I step into his death-trap of a school.”

“Surely you don’t mean Dumbledore, or Hogwarts?”

“I mean everything I say, Professor,” Harry replied simply, waving his hand at the door, which opened by itself.

Surprised at the eleven-year-old child practicing wandless magic, Sprout completely forgot that he had just insulted her place of employment and her employer. Although, she couldn’t fault him on the Hogwarts part, the opening of the Cursed Vaults had been a real pain in everyone’s arses for the past few years.

But how did young Harry imply that he knew that though?

“Everyone, listen up.”

They were in the living space again. All the boys turned to Harry.

“I’m going out for a few hours. Continue whatever you are doing, but as always,  _ do not  _ enter my room. Got it?”

The boys responded with a single, “Yes, King.”, before going back to their activities. Satisfied, Harry headed down the staircase, followed by an amazed Sprout. She hadn’t expected the lad to exhibit such power over these muggle hooligans.

Harry was just one surprise after another.

And they didn’t stop coming.

“Hold on, Professor.”

They had come to a stop near the bottom of the staircase.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Potter?”

The boy stared at the professor’s robes, and waved his hands. The robes transfigured themselves into a plain white blouse and flowery knee-length skirt. Sprout’s pointy hat disappeared, and she blinked in surprise.

“People are going to stare at you if you go about dressed in those robes,” said Harry monotonously, “This will do until we reach the Leaky Cauldron.”

Again, Sprout was stunned by the boy’s impressive magical skills.

“It’s really fine, Mr. Potter. I could have just cast a ‘notice-me-not’ charm on the both of us.”

Harry didn’t reply to that, stepping out into the sunlight.

Pausing to give the sentry-teen a nod, Harry led Sprout out onto the road. They walked a bit in complete silence, until they reached a slightly more busier road. Seeing a taxi coming towards them, Harry stuck his left hand out to flag it down. When it stopped, Harry opened the door to let Sprout board first. 

He slid in next, closing the door behind him. The driver glanced back tiredly, “Where to?”

“Charing Cross Road,” Harry replied simply.

A nod was all he got, before the taxi rejoined the flow of traffic.

The journey was just as silent as the earlier walk. Sprout felt it quite oppressive. She would have tried to start a conversation with Harry, but she didn’t want to risk breaking the Statute of Secrecy with the driver. 

Add that to the fact that she didn’t know  _ what _ to talk about with Harry without making the air awkward. While she was dying to know why the lad was staying in such a lawless, crime-riddled area and getting involved with muggle hooligans, instead of an average English suburb living a normal life, she instinctively knew she would get no answers from Harry on that. Harry had been relatively polite to her so far (if a little blunt and crass), but she knew that politeness is a fragile neutrality with a frigidly-cold individual like Harry. One wrong word could mean Harry lashing out and closing himself off from her completely. For someone like Sprout, that was something she didn’t want to happen. Furthermore, having to face a cold anger was worse than a heated one in her books.

Harry also made her nervous. She sensed a great power within the lad, what from his magical abilities that he had shown so far and the respect he garnered from those hooligans. Power was a dangerous thing, and she didn’t want to be on the negative receiving end of it. Again, all it takes is just one wrong word and the blizzard would consume her alive.

Sprout wasn’t going risk blowing things with Harry, so she held her tongue and tried to assimilate into the silence until Harry actually wanted to engage her in conversation.

At some point, the driver started playing the radio, which helped lift the oppressive silence a little bit. But even then Harry made no move to speak.

The world outside changed as they went. Gone was dreariness and bleak existence, replaced with busy life with goals to meet and places to be as one would associate with central London.

Finally, the taxi entered Charing Cross Road from the junction at Cranbourn Street. It shifted towards the pavement, coming to a stop at a bus-stop.

“That will be £4.50.”

Harry pulled out a wallet and took out a £5 note.

“Keep the change.”

The driver said nothing as he took the fare.

Harry stepped out of the taxi first, followed by Sprout. As the taxi drove off, they blended into the crowd of people going about their business. Along the way, Harry wordlessly cancelled the transfiguration on Sprout’s clothes. Just up north, they approached what appeared to be an empty, derelict storefront along the road. But to Harry and Sprout, they were approaching the gateway between the magical and muggle worlds, the Leaky Cauldron.

Stepping inside, Harry held it open to let Sprout in. The Leaky Cauldron was filled with wizards and witches, eating, drinking, talking, having a great time in each other’s company. The barman and owner of the pub, Tom, noticed their presence as they were walking towards the back door.

“Ah, Professor Sprout! Good to see you.”

“Good to see you too, Tom,” Sprout smiled kindly, “How has business been doing?”

“Oh, the usual, nothing really interesting,” the old landlord shrugged, wiping down a glass, “So what brings you here this fine day?”

“I was just bringing a charge of mine to Diagon Alley to get his first-year school supplies.”

“That’s lovely,” Tom smiled, “Who is the lad?”

“Oh, he is - ”

The back door swinging shut cut her off.

Sprout and Tom shared a look.

“Not one for conversation, that lad?” asked the landlord casually.

“It appears not,” Sprout replied, “Well, I better catch up with him.”

“I won’t keep you any longer, Professor.”

Sprout continued her way to the back door, opening it and stepping out into the slightly dingy courtyard. Harry was leaning against the adjacent wall.

“I hope you don’t mind, Professor,” said the lad, “But I’d rather not be mobbed by people who raise me on a pedestal for something I cannot actually recall that well.”

“Oh…not at all, Mr. Potter. But surely you wouldn’t mind interacting with the people you saved from You-Know-Who’s reign of terror? I’m sure they would very much like to meet you. And besides, Tom is a very pleasant man.”

Harry gave her a look as if she was crazy. Stepping away from the wall, his eyes zeroed in on a specific stone brick three up and two across. He tapped it with his finger three times, and stepped back.

“Remember Professor, this is merely a formality,” said Harry tonelessly, as the bricks began to shift, rotate, and slide away, revealing the street ahead.

Diagon Alley was, like the Leaky Cauldron behind it, bustling with life. The cobbled streets carried continuous foot traffic of hundreds of magical folk dressed in all manners of robes, cloaks and hats, going about their business - entering and exiting shops, greeting one another, carrying shopping or groceries (either in hand or trailing behind them in the air). Children were running about up and down the street, walking with adults, or peering into the various shop windows with curiosity and awe. Owls of various sizes flew overhead, some carrying objects in their talons, others bare. 

It was just another day for the magical people of Britain.

Harry strode into the crowd, artfully weaving in, out and between people as they went. Sprout actually had a hard time keeping up with him. His stealth rivalled that of Muggle spies, or “neen-jars”, if she remembered her Muggle Studies classes.

At the other end of the alley, stood Gringotts, the magical bank run by the goblins. At the base of the steps, Harry waited for Sprout to catch up. They joined the steady stream of wizards and witches entering and leaving the bank. Sprout noticed with great curiosity that unlike the other wizards and witches, Harry actually paused to bow to the goblin sentries standing guard outside the arching entrance.

The sentries themselves surprised Sprout by nodding shortly to Harry, before slipping back into vigilance for any troublemakers. She expected the guards to be amazed that a wizard was bowing to them, but the entire interaction seemed perfectly normal and routine, carried out so often that it has become second nature.

Partly because of her Hufflepuff nature and her personal moral of respect, Sprout followed her charge’s lead, and bowed to the guards.  _ This _ time, the guards blinked in surprise, but nonetheless nodded back to her before returning to their steely, vigilant gaze. Sprout quickly entered the bank, catching up with Harry at the end of a queue.

It was a bit of a wait to reach the goblin teller, being the middle of lunchtime. Harry made no move to converse with Sprout, staring ahead with hard, steel-like eyes with an impassive expression. Sometimes, Sprout would see the look of indifference morph into a scowl. That was everytime she noticed a wizard or witch being rude to their respective tellers, bossing them about like indentured house-elves, which was extremely often.

After about fifteen minutes in line, it was finally their turn.

“Master Teller, may Gringotts always flow with gold, and you bathe in the blood of your enemies,” Harry greeted the goblin before him.

“Ah, young Harry,” Sprout noticed the goblin had something akin to a grin when he addressed her charge, “may your endeavours prosper, and those who defy you cower at your feet. How may I help you today?”

“I’m here to withdraw my allocated Hogwarts funds pouch from my vault. I believe we did the necessary calculations with Master Banker Griphook the other day.”

“That was indeed done,” the goblin nodded, “Shall I send for a representative to take you down to your vault?”

“I would be most appreciative of your help,” said Harry, “And, if I may do so, request that Professor Sprout be allowed to follow me?”

“That can be arranged right away. Just give me a minute, young Harry.”

The goblin tapped the air in front of him, which rippled for a second. As he spoke into the spot in Gobbledegook, Sprout asked, “Surely you don’t need me to accompany you to retrieve a pouch from your vault?”

“You were never needed in the first place,” Harry replied simply, “As I said, this is merely a formality. So that you have something to report back to that senile fucker after the day is done.”

Sprout would have said more, but was interrupted by the arrival of another goblin, “Please follow me.”

Harry nodded to the teller, who returned it before going back to his work. With Sprout close behind, Harry followed the goblin towards the lifts that took them one floor down towards the platform where the carts were parked. 

They boarded one, and one hair-raising cart-ride later (Harry stayed completely silent throughout, only occasionally telling the driver to go faster stoically, much to Sprout’s consternation, as the final speed threatened to throw the cart off the tracks), they arrived at a torch-lit landing with the large metal doors that was the the Potter vault visible just a little bit inwards.

Harry and the goblin representative paused a moment, as Sprout clearly needed a second to curb the nausea that was threatening to expel her breakfast onto the chamber floor. After her stomach finally settled, they approached the metal doors.

“You know what to do, young Harry,” said the goblin, handing the boy an ordinary dagger.

Harry took the dagger, and without so much as a blink, dragged the blade over his palm, breaking the skin and drawing blood. He passed the dagger back to the goblin, and approached the doors, which had a hand-shaped imprint on the handwheel. Harry raised his bleeding hand, and pressed it firmly into the imprint.

“You’d notice, Professor Sprout,” the goblin turned to the professor, “that young Harry does not use a key unlike our other patrons at Gringotts.”

The imprint glowed, and Harry pulled his hand away, the gash on his palm healed over completely.

“I can see that,” Sprout quipped with a slight nod.

There was a rumbling noise, and the chamber began to tremble as if a small earthquake was taking place. The handwheel began to turn on its own, and the doors slid apart with each revolution.

“The Potter family has always been one of our best clients and partners, and young Harry has continued the mantle from his parents,” the goblin continued, “It simply wouldn’t be in the interests of us and young Harry if the Potter vault was not secured in the most up-to-date wards that ensure only those with Potter blood  _ and  _ DNA are able to access the vault.”

The doors finally opened fully, and the rumbling stopped. Sprout bit back a breath of awe.

She knew that the Potters were among the wealthiest families in the magical world. Even so, she couldn’t help but still be amazed at the vast wealth and assets the family had to their name.

The vault seemed to stretch back for miles, and piled high with mounds and mounds of galleons, sickles and knuts as far as the eye could see, glinting under the torchlight. Amidst the mounds, lay treasure chests filled to the brim with jewellery, gems, precious stones, and other valuable heirlooms and artifacts. Suits of armour littered the vault, as well as paintings of various ancestors. Bookcases stacked with tomes, grimoires and other rare books were lined up neatly against one of the walls, the tops barely seen over the mounds of coins.

A path cut through the mounds of coins, beginning with a semicircle in front of the doors. And right in that empty semicircle, looking decidedly out of place on the stone floor, was a single pouch made of royal-purple silk, tied tight with a gold tassel.

Harry stepped forward, and picked it up. He inspected it for a second, nodding to himself.

“That’s it. I’m done.”

The goblin nodded. Harry stepped back out into the chamber, pouch in hand. There was another rumble, and the doors of the vault began to slide back. They clamped shut with a metallic groan.

“Well, I suppose we can say this is another successful transaction, young Harry.”

“Indeed, thank you for your time.”

“The pleasure is mine and Gringotts alone, young Harry,” the goblin nodded, “Come, I’ll show you and your professor back up to the ground floor.”

“Lead the way.”

One hair-raising cart ride later (at least for Sprout), they returned to the surface. Harry thanked the goblin representative again, before they were ushered out of Gringotts. Back in Diagon Alley, Harry turned to Sprout.

“I presume we should get my school robes and winter coat next?”

“We can certainly do that, Mr. Potter.”

Harry grunted, turning down the street, again showing his artful skill in stealth by weaving his way through the crowds. He came to a stop outside a shop called Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, waiting for Sprout to catch up with him before entering together.

At the bell’s tinkle, said proprietor of the shop came bustling out from a back room.

“Good day to you! Hogwarts robes for you, my dear?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then, follow me please. I’m sure we have just the right size for you.”

Harry nodded, and followed Madam Malkin to the next room. Sprout stayed put.

“Here, stand on the stool, my dear. And raise your arms up.”

Harry did as he was told. An enchanted measuring tape began measuring his dimensions, while Madam Malkin wrote them down on a piece of parchment. Within a few minutes, she had all the necessary measurements.

“That will be all, dear. Now I shan’t be long, but you are free to browse the shop while you wait.”

“Alright.”

Madam Malkin smiled, turning on her heel and bustling out towards the back room. Harry stepped off the stool, and idly eyed the room for something to base his interest towards. Spotting a rack of cloaks, he stepped towards it, and began fiddling with the selection available.

It was also at the same time that Sprout entered the room and approached him.

“Mr. Potter, there is something I have been meaning to ask you, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes?”

“Could you enlighten me on why you choose to address Headmaster Dumbledore with such crude language? Normally I try to see the good in everyone, but your lack of respect for the Headmaster is something that I cannot in good faith just accept without at least hearing a good reason for it.”

The boy stopped feeling the material of a cloak, and turned to face the professor earnestly. Sprout hid back a flinch. Harry’s face had not shown any change in expression, but his eyes were a different story altogether. Those emerald irises, that once were hard with frigid politeness, were now glowing with barely-contained rage, contempt and hatred.

“Respect is earned, Professor, not a given right or bought. That manipulative fucker up in his tower has so far not given me a good reason for me to respect him.”

Sprout felt that there was more to the story than what the boy was revealing, so she pressed forward, “What do you mean? Headmaster Dumbledore is a very accomplished wizard who has done a lot of good for-”

“I don’t mean what he has done,” Harry interrupted, tone even but no less icy, “The thing about you magical folk is that you just accept everything at face-value. You only see what is on the surface and think that everything is all fine and dandy. But you never look deeper, see past the façade that everyone - and yes, I’m including that headmaster you respect so much - puts on the blindside others from all the less-than-honourable reasons that were the primary motivation for their actions.”

Again, Sprout had more questions, “But what are the reasons that warrant this lack of respect?”

Harry stayed firm, “Oh I can think of many examples, Professor. Let’s start with something a bit more general…”

At that moment, the front bell tinkled again, followed by Madam Malkin’s customary, “Hogwarts robes for you, dear?”. A few moments later, a pale-faced boy with platinum-blonde hair slicked back entered the measurement room with his mother, a dignified woman with two-toned blond and dark hair. Harry discretely waved a hand, casting a “notice-me-not” charm over himself and Sprout. They watched the boy step up onto the stool, Madam Malkin coming in with her measuring tape, parchment and quill. 

“Narcissa Malfoy née Black, with her only son and heir to the Malfoy family, Draconis “Draco”. She married Lucius Malfoy just when Voldemort was beginning his rise to power. It is Lucius I want you to take note, Professor,” his eyes briefly flitted over to her, “he held a high position in Voldemort’s inner circle, and is a ruthless Death Eater who took pride in torturing innocents for the fun of it. When his master was vanquished, he was brought before the Council of Magical Law to stand trial for his crimes. But like so many Death Eaters, he claimed he was under the Imperius Curse and bribed the council with his vast wealth to let him off. After that, he rose to a high position in the Wizengamot, again using his wealth to buy his way in, and became an advisor to the current Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. To hide his dark past, Lucius often made donations to various causes throughout magical Britain, which seems philanthropic on the surface, until you realise the Malfoy family has a foothold in all of those organisations they were donating to.”

Harry turned back to Sprout, “Again, Professor, Lucius Malfoy is a prime example of a truly despicable individual who hides behind cowardice to present a false image. Dumbledore is exactly the same, presenting an image of a wise, kindly grandfather figure to the unsuspecting, hiding his true nature of being a manipulative son of a whore who uses people like pawns in a chess game and sacrificing their very existence as a means to achieve his goals. In fact, the only difference between Malfoy and Dumbledore is their alignment - one is Dark, the other is Light. So you see, Professor, unless Dumbledore miraculously has a change of heart, which I actually doubt he has one in the first place, he will not have my respect or trust for the foreseeable future.”

Sprout was left stunned by the boy’s ireful vitriol, partly because of the information about the Malfoys, and largely because of the accusation that Dumbledore was not as he appeared to be. She already had her private misgivings about the Malfoys, being pureblood supremacists and all, but the notion that Dumbledore was on the same level as them sounded so impossible that it shook her to the core.

“I don’t expect you to believe me yet, Professor,” Harry added, “But it will do you a whole world of good to think about it.”

At that moment, Narcissa left the shop with Draco in tow. Harry cancelled the charm on them, just as Madam Malkin returned to the room.

“Ah, there you are dear, your robes are ready.”

“Thank you for your troubles.”

“Oh think nothing of it, dear,” Malkin smiled, “I’m just doing my job.”

Harry and Sprout followed the proprietor back to the front of the shop. On the counter, was several Hogwarts robes and accompanying ties, scarves, vests, and slacks, wrapped in brown paper, tied with string.

“That will be five galleons and twenty sickles, my dear.”

Harry fished out said number of coins, and pushed them onto the counter. He took the package, wordlessly shrank it down to the size of a postage stamp, and slipped it into his pocket.

“We’ll be taking our leave now, Madam Malkin.”

“You take care! And do come again!”

The pair departed from the shop after that.

“I need to get a trunk first,” Harry said, “School supplies are next on the list and I’m going to need the extra space.”

“Extra space?” that confused Sprout, “First-years don’t require that many books.”

“I’m not just referring to textbooks, Professor,” Harry gave her a pointed look, “Knowledge waits for no man. I’m merely acquiring extra materials on top of the mandatory books to continue learning beyond what is expected of me.”

Sprout had nothing to say to that, other than thinking that Harry was bound for Ravenclaw at such a rate, never mind that Potters have traditionally been sorted into Gryffindor.

 

* * *

The pair emerged back into the Alley two hours later with an expandable trunk available and about half of the non-fiction books from Flourish and Blotts alongside the first-year textbooks, which not only left Sprout speechless, but so too the manager. The visit to the Slug and Jiggers Apothecary saw Harry leaving with several cauldrons and a ton of potions ingredients and supplies, all fitting into one compartment of the trunk. Stationary such as quills, parchment, ink pots and the like went into another compartment. And more non-fiction books from other book shops across Diagon went into another compartment.

Closing the trunk after draining much of the stock from Whizz Hard Books, Harry wordlessly shrank the trunk small enough to fit inside his pocket, before taking his leave with Sprout.

After that, Harry steered Sprout towards the Magical Menagerie instead of the expected Eeylops Owl Emporium. Even that visit had been an experience by itself. The more skittish animals such as rats, nifflers and pygmy puffs all tried to hide or shrink into their cages, clearly frightened by Harry’s presence. The free-roaming cats jumped away from Harry too, knocking over cages and items around the shop in their mad sprint for safety. Sprout couldn’t for the life of her figure out why the animals were so terrified of the boy, but she did note that the few snakes on sale in the shop had raised their heads in their glass tanks with curiosity.

It also didn’t take long for Harry to find an animal that would be his companion for the coming years. Or rather, that animal and boy found each other instead.

It was a snowy-white Gyrfalcon. The moment it registered Harry was in the shop, it trilled loudly and started throwing itself against its cage in an attempt to break out. Harry turned to the majestic bird-of-prey, and just by gazing at it with his cold emerald irises, managed to calm the bird and stop its self-destructive behaviour.

“I’m taking the Gyrfalcon with me,” Harry told the stunned manager very simply.

The manager shakily brought the cage down and opened the latch, releasing the bird who flew out in a flash of white. It circled around the shop, trilling loudly, before coming to a land on Harry’s shoulder. The fact that he didn’t even flinch under the bird’s ferocious talons made the manager even more unnerved.

With a noticeable stutter in her tone, the manager explained how to take care of the Gyrfalcon, though Harry didn’t appear to be listening, more focused making silent communication with the bird, whom he learned was a female from a rare bit of attention towards the manager’s instructions.

After paying for the Gyrfalcon (a solid amount of twenty galleons) and sliding her cage into the trunk, Harry, bird and Sprout left the shop, leaving a much relieved manager and dozens of animals behind.

Back in the open air, Harry let his new pet take her first flight into the air in what was presumably a very long time. He waited patiently for the bird to return to his outstretched arm, temporarily content with her new freedom.

It also gave Harry the chance to get a real good look at the bird. The black spots on her wings sloped at a downward angle from one end to the other. Her beak was also tipped black against yellow. But it was her eyes that were her most captivating feature - icy-blue irises, with swirls of a deeper blue in the shape of a snowflake.

“You remind me of snow after a blizzard,” Harry told the falcon as Sprout watched on, “Peace after rage and turmoil. Beautiful after destruction and chaos. A goddess, benevolent and wrathful. I shall call you Eira on this day forward.”

The newly-named bird chittered lowly, siding up to Harry’s shoulder.

He turned to Sprout, “Let’s go.”

There was now only one more place to go to before the day was done.

Walking down the Alley in the direction towards the Leaky Cauldron, Harry and Sprout arrived at the most important place a new Hogwarts student must visit in Diagon - Ollivander’s, the most famous wand shop in magical Britain.

Though, Sprout knew that even this most crucial stop was also just a formality. Why on Earth would Harry need a wand when he could already perform magic wandlessly?

The doorbell tinkled as the pair entered the shop. It was dusty, the smell of aged wood permeating the air. The overall state of the interior could be described as shabby, as if the owner put maintaining the upkeep of the shop at the lowest of priorities for years. It was also quite cramped, much of the available space taken up by the rows of towering shelves rising right up to the ceiling, stacked to the brim with countless wands in narrow boxes, some with newly penned descriptions while many more were faded with time.

For a few moments, wands and dust were all that graced Harry and Sprout’s presence. Until a door somewhere at the back of the shop squeaked open, and out stepped a man whom many would describe as eccentric, if his wild hair that would put Einstein to shame was any indication. Sprout knew right away that this was the proprietor, Garrick Ollivander himself.

“Ah, Mr. Potter,” the man smiled, “I’ve been expecting you.”

“I’m here for my wand, Mr Ollivander.”

“Yes yes, straight to the point, as always,” the old man nodded, “Just like Jacob before you. I still remember his wand - ten inches, maple wood and dragon heartstring. A real pity it was snapped when he was expelled. I predicted he would do immense things with it.”

Sprout was surprised that Ollivander mentioned Jacob Tatsugami, the student who was expelled for opening the Cursed Vaults. Intriguing her even more was that the wand-maker implied that Harry knew Jacob in some form or another. Remembering how Harry referenced the Cursed Vaults back in his room in Peckham, she felt a puzzle piece fall into place. But it provided little clarity to the overall picture, something that will only appear to her if Harry divulged his entire life story to her in a private moment. 

But she knew that such an experience was as possible as her being able to defeat Voldemort at the height of his power.

She’ll just have to wait and see how things go.

“Again, your ability to remember every single wand you have made in your years is not one to sniff at,” Harry told Ollivander monotonously.

“My humble heart smiles at your praise, Mr. Potter,” the man hummed, “Now, as I believe you have inherited from your predecessor, you want to get straight to business.”

“That’s right.”

“Splendid, now can extend your wand arm please?”

Harry stretched out his right arm. Ollivander summoned a tape measure and ran it parallel over the boy’s limb. Muttering a length, he vanished the tape measure. The man then ambled over to a shelf, muttering to himself as he scanned the numerous wands. Harry started spacing out, staring blankly at a random spot in the shop as he waited for Ollivander to return. To Sprout’s surprise, Eira the gyrfalcon seemed to be following her owner’s line of sight, staring unblinkingly.

After a moment, Ollivander approached them with a wand in hand.

“Here you go, Mr. Potter, try this. Eleven inches, redwood, slightly springy with a thunderbird tail feather as the core.”

Harry barely took the wand from the old man when it suddenly burst into flames. To Harry’s credit, he didn’t flinch, not even blinking or letting go of the wand as it turned to ashes in an instant.

“Hm...looks like the wand felt it would rather end its existence than become yours,” Ollivander rubbed his chin, “A saying I always go by, “the wand chooses the wizard”. But no matter, let’s try again.”

He went back to the shelves, and came back with five boxes.

“Here is one. Twelve inches, maple wood, dragon heartstring core. Similar to Jacob’s wand, only slightly longer and rigid.”

Harry took the wand, only for it to droop like a dead flower.

“The successor will not be following the predecessor, it seems,” Ollivander remarked, taking the wand back (which immediately straightened). He took out the third wand, “Nine inches, birch, troll’s whisker.”

The old man moved to give Harry the wand, only to retract it.

“No, not compatible. I can already feel it.”

He just tossed the wand to the side, Harry and Eira’s gaze following it to the floor.

“Perhaps the third time's the charm,” Ollivander mused, “Thirteen inches, cedar, dittany stalk core.”

Harry took the wand, only for it to collapse into a pile of shapeless slime, sliding out of his hand onto the floor.

This trend continued, wand after wand. In some way or another, the wand was rejected, either by itself, by Harry, or by Ollivander. The scene soon became a spectacle in itself. The wands had different reactions to Harry. Some were minor, like hopping away from the lad, putting up strong resistance against reaching his hand or diving back into their boxes the moment Harry gazed at them. Others were more violent - one wand exploded into pieces of useless wood in Harry’s palm, another leapt out of the lad’s hand and dove straight for the storefront window, smashing through it and startling passing shoppers, while a third seemed to let out a terrified scream, fly over to a shelf, release a stream of fire which immediately set the shelf (and all the wands still stacked on it) aflame, before throwing itself into the conflagration.

Several wands took out their fear on the people in the shop. Sprout had water, flowers, red wine, animal entrails, urine, bits of glass and other substances shot at her. Harry wordlessly ducked and dodged any wand that tried to attack him, and Ollivander was hit over the head by several wands as they made their escape or demise from Harry.

Yet despite the seemingly never-ending failures, Ollivander was not disappointed. In fact, he had become exuberant that so many wands did not connect with Harry, the challenge becoming inherently more difficult. The more wands were rejected, the more excited he became. By the time Harry has virtually tried every possible wand in the shop (the floor was cluttered with thousands of failed wands), Ollivander was so giddy with exhilaration that he resembled a young child high on too much sugar (and caffeine, for that matter).

“Oh goodness me! By Merlin’s hairy, sagging chest! This is just unbelievable, so unexpected, so unimaginable! Never in the years of my  _ life  _ or my work have I ever run out of possible wands for a customer! Simply unthinkable, but oh dear me...the options this opens up! Limitless, boundless, open to unending creativity and imagination!”

Harry, for his part, just stared at the dancing man impassively, while Sprout was uncertain how to make out this current situation.

Ollivander suddenly grabbed the lad by the arm, “Come, Mr. Potter! Greatness awaits!”

As he was dragged to the back of the shop by the excited wand-maker, Harry turned back to Sprout, “Just wait here, or go do some shopping if you’re bored waiting for me. I don’t know how long this will take.”

 

* * *

Harry was taken to what appeared to a cross between an office and a workshop. Admittedly, it was even more cramped in this room compared to the external shop, but Harry made no comment. 

Still shaking with unbridled excitement, Ollivander let go of the lad’s arm, and quickly stepped over to his desk. Harry waited patiently as he watched the wand-maker push all kinds of items off of the desk, clearing enough space for him to grab all sorts of materials from different shelves and arranging them neatly on the desk.

“Come, Mr Potter,” it seemed that the wand-maker had managed to quell his exhilaration to communicate properly, “Have a feel of these different materials. Regular wood will not cut it anymore.”

The lad eyed what was on the table - cuboids of what looked like metals.

“Usually,” Ollivander explained, “inert materials such as metals are impossible to make into wands. But challenges have never stopped me from trying what hasn’t been done before!”

Only half-listening, Harry hovered his hand over the cuboids. As he had expected, he felt nothing, not a flicker of magic, or a smidgen of warmth that would signify a connection.

“Hmm...so metals have no effect on a unique individual like you,” Ollivander hummed, “Never mind then, for this leaves us with the rarest of possibilities!”

The wand-maker huddled over to what looked like a muggle safe. Harry watched with a slightly raised eyebrow, as the man fiddled with the appliance while muttering inaudibly. Then, with a click, the door was opened. Ollivander pulled out a leather pouch and long wooden box.

“I’ll show you what is in the box later, Mr. Potter. First, let us determine which material suits best for your wand.”

Ollivander opened the pouch, and poured the contents onto the desk. 

It was precious stones.

Harry recognised a few right from the start - an emerald, sapphire, ruby, amethyst, and several more. 

“You must understand, Mr Potter, virtually no one even  _ thinks  _ of using precious stones to make a wand. Far too expensive, and the only advantage it has over the typical wood is strength and durability. But you are far from typical, Mr. Potter. Only the power of a gemstone is able to handle and channel your magic. Nothing else can hold a candle in comparison. So go on, have a feel.”

Harry held his hand over the stones. This time, there was something, a small tendril of coolness seemed to wrap around his fingertip. It happened over half of the stones - mainly the less known ones such as the peridot, zircon and tourmaline. When he moved his hand over the opal, turquoise and amber, the tendril of cold had expanded slightly to the length of his index finger. This trend continued as he covered increasingly familiar stones. 

The strongest link (where he felt came from two different stones, one of which held great symbolism to Harry. It was the emerald, bearing the name of the colour that were his and his late mother’s eyes. The other was a diamond.

“These two.”

“Ah yes, I can see why right away,” Ollivander nodded, “The emerald, a memory of your mother - ten and three quarters inches, willow and unicorn hair core, I remember - , and the diamond, the hardest of the gemstones. Your magic has made an excellent choice, Mr. Potter.”

The wand-maker kept away the other stones, leaving behind the emerald and diamond. He then picked up the wooden box and showed it to Harry.

“As for the core of your wand, it has to be something truly unique and special, something the typical sources cannot provide. What I have here has been with my family for generations, and is what I truly believe is the best for your wand’s core.”

Ollivander opened the box, allowing Harry to peer at what was inside. The lad thought he recognised what it was.

“Is it a phoenix feather?”

“It may look like it, Mr. Potter, but the correct answer is no one knows,” said Ollivander.

It did look like a feather of a phoenix, only missing the typically meld of red, orange and yellow, symbolic of fire. Instead, it was various shades of blue from dark to light two-thirds of the way up from the bottom to ending in white the rest of the feather up. And instead of the fluid shape of a regular phoenix feather that some might say bore resemblance to a tongue of fire, this feather was so straight and sharp Harry believed it could slay a man where he stood.

“How did you get it?”

“A peculiar tale, one very strange indeed,” Ollivander admitted, “This feather came into my family’s possession after my ancestor, Heliodargus, who married into the Vikings, found this feather when out scavenging for thestral tail hairs in the middle of a blizzard. Why he thought it was a good idea I don’t know for the life of me. At some point in his search, he heard a loud, haunting call, almost like a hawk, but much more powerful. The already-frigid temperatures plummeted further, and the howling wind threatened to blow out his eardrums. What little visibility there was completely disappeared, forcing him to remain where he stood. He then heard the flapping of enormous wings, and the tinkling of crystal. And just like that, the blizzard subsided. When he could see again, Heliodargus saw this very feather lying on the ground a few paces away. He took it home, and kept it a secret to everyone but family. You can say it became an heirloom, if you will.”

“In that case, why are you giving it to me?” Harry asked.

Ollivander’s eyes took on a far-away gleam, “I have seen many a wand go on to do many great things. Good or bad, but great either way. Sometimes, I can tell from the wizard or witch. I may not have magical sight, but I can sense when they radiate a power that channels into the wand they hold, leading them towards fame and greatness. I’ve only met you today, Mr. Potter, but already I can foresee you doing magnificent and immense things to our world. Whether it brings us to prosperity, or ruin, I cannot see. And while I am not a seer, you are destined for greatness like so many before you. This feather is the key to such a path, and I sincerely want you to have it as the core of your wand.”

When he put it that way, Harry was intrigued. The feather was truly a mystifying sight, and like a siren singing it’s song, it seemed to be pulling him towards it. Something so frigidly cold and icily haunting, wrapping around his magic like a swirling flurry of snow in a moonless night. Harry unconsciously reached out for the feather, his fingertips brushing against the barbs.

The world shattered.

Ollivander, the workshop, the feather, all disappeared. Harry found himself in a void of black, nothingness enveloping him. His eyes darted about, trying to make sense of the sudden change to his surroundings. It was deathly quiet, far too quiet for his liking. Harry tried to move, but his legs seemed to be frozen stuck on whatever (or rather, the nothing) he was standing on. He could feel the first embers of panic beginning to set in, but he forced it out through sheer will. 

He couldn’t afford to be consumed by fear now. His training forbade it, and it would be letting Jacob down. Letting oneself be overwhelmed by fear would only cost him dearly. Hesitance, or a single flinch, could easily see him dead before the new day. 

He needed to stay calm. Think rationally. Only then he could get out of this situation. Panicking would only cloud his judgement and spiral him towards an untimely demise.

That was when the silence was broken by a loud, echoing sound.

Harry immediately recognised it as the roar of a large bird-of-prey, like a red-tailed hawk in mid-flight. It was powerful, yet haunting and poignant at the same time. Harry felt his heart uncharacteristically shudder from such a sound, his soul reeling in awe over what he heard.

Then, the darkness was disrupted by the sudden appearance of two lights of an icy-blue. The shape was almond-like with sharp edges. The blue was so striking, so alive with energy but at the same time so dark with the extinction of life. Both appeared to be clashing, releasing plumes of frigid, yet volatile mist that glowed under the light the blue was radiating.

In fact...if Harry had to guess, they looked like...eyes?

The silence was again shakened by another piercing roar, the flapping of large wings and the tinkling of crystal. Harry inwardly started, just like what Ollivander recounted when his ancestor was in the middle of that blizzard. He watched as shimmering snowflakes appeared out of nowhere, and swirled around the two eyes. The flurries of frozen water formed the outlines of a head, a body, a tail with long feathers, fierce-looking talons and wings, everything distinctly avian. 

Harry drew in a breath. The image of whatever this creature was seemed to overshadow the void of darkness. It was simply that huge. Vast and imposing. And not to mention, beautiful and powerful.

It stared at him for a few moments, making not a sound other than the flapping of its expansive wings. Harry’s mind was blank, uncertain about what was about to happen but not caring whatsoever. It was the first time he had seen such a magnificent being, and for all that he didn’t show his emotions unless someone really pissed him off, he was in awe, and his expression allowed a tiny showing. 

Harry didn’t know why, but he felt a strange connection with this creature. There was something deeply personal between the cold that radiated from the snowflakes, and his own heart, frozen with time. He wanted so badly to reach out and deepen this unknown link between them. Harry still couldn’t move his legs, but there was feeling in his arms. 

Right. He’ll do that.

Moving entirely on instinct, Harry stretched out his hand, reaching forwards.

Suddenly, the avian roared again, spreading its wings outwards. Harry quickly retracted his hand. The void started to shake, as if an earthquake was rumbling through. The snowflakes outlining its form seem to vibrate slowly, then growing progressively wilder. Light reflected off the frozen water, shining in all directions and further disrupting the increasingly-volatile darkness. As the shaking worsened, the light grew brighter, until it forced Harry to screw his eyes shut to avoid being blinded.

What was once stability, now only chaos reigned. The roar of the avian threatened to blow out his eardrums, the only darkness from his tightly-shut eyes. Everything was shining now, all traces of the void driven away by the light. The shaking was reaching apocalyptic proportions, teetering over the precipice before exploding in a burst of energy that seemed to destroy everything in his path.

_ “Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter!” _

Harry opened his eyes.

The void, the light, the avian creature, were all gone. Harry realised he was back in Ollivander’s workshop, the wand-maker clutching him worriedly.

“Mr. Potter, can you hear me?”

Harry instinctively wretched himself from the old man’s grip. 

“I’m fine. My apologies, I just blanked out.”

A complete lie, but one Harry saw fit to tell the wand-maker. Call it a gut-instinct, but Harry didn’t want to divulge what he saw in the void just yet. He felt the experience to be a deeply personal one, and something that shouldn’t be shared with just anyone, not especially someone he had only met today, and one he didn’t exactly trust with secrets. 

Ollivander’s main mindset might be his wands, but one can never be too careful.

Either way, the old wand-maker bought the excuse, releasing a sigh of relief.

“You had me worried there, Mr. Potter. You were were just standing there, stock-still, eyes glassy.”

“It happens when I have a lot of things on my mind.”

Again, not the entire truth there. Ollivander bought it anyway.

“I won’t pry into your business, Mr. Potter. The only question I have is, do you accept the feather to be the core of your new wand?”

Harry glanced at the feather, still in the box, sitting on the desk. He remembered the avian creature in the void, the sheer beauty and power it possessed, and the personal feeling and connection they shared for those short, brief moments. 

There could be only one answer to that, couldn’t it?

“If you insist.”

Ollivander smiled, “Wonderful. I’ll start work on your wand right away. Give me about two weeks, and I will contact you via owl.”

“That is acceptable,” Harry nodded, “Is there anything else?”

The wand-maker was about to shake his head, when a single thought flashed across his mind. It was simple in words, but the implications, possibilities and consequences of carrying out that thought were far from simple, not just the fact that it was illegal in so many ways. So many things could go right, or go horribly wrong if he messed it up even in the slightest ways. He could decimate his entire shop (or in an extreme case, part of Diagon Alley) if he wasn’t careful. But the idea of doing the impossible (like young Harry’s wand) exhilarated Ollivander, and before he could stop himself, he turned to Harry.

“Mr. Potter, if I may impose a little, may I ask a favour from you?”

“Depends,” the lad replied, “What is it?”

“May I have a tiny vial of your blood?”

Harry’s expression did not change, but Ollivander could see the lad’s cold eyes harden.

“And what, pray tell, are you planning to use it for?”

“Nothing nefarious, I can swear on that, Mr. Potter. I figured I could use your blood to make your wand a little more...personal, if I may say.”

The hardness dropped, but the vigilance remained. Harry had an idea of where the wand-maker was going, but he had to confirm it first.

“You want to use my blood in addition to the feather to make the core of my wand, am I right?”

Ollivander nodded, “As expected of you, Mr. Potter, superior perception. I know full-well the consequences of blood magic in the wrong hands for the wrong purposes, or the slightest misstep in a delicate process. But I am willing to risk laying waste to the surrounding area to turn your wand into something that becomes a part of you. Nothing, no wizard or magic itself, will be able to take your wand away. No one else will be able to use it. Only you can, and will.”

Harry stayed silent, slowly processing the man’s words. When he put it that way, it didn’t sound like a bad idea. He might already be at great lengths at wandless and nonverbal magic, but he saw nothing wrong with a wand that responded only to his command and power. Having no one else being able to take or use it was a solid in his mind, having studied about many a wizard or witch who met grisly ends when their wand was taken from them.

Then again, they didn’t have wandless or nonverbal magic to back them up, so perhaps not the best comparison.

Still, better to have contingency plans in place rather than nothing, right?

“Alright,” Harry nodded.

Ollivander smiled, “Excellent. Now let me just get a few things…”

The wand-maker went over to his desk, and pulled open a drawer. He ruffled through the contents, before returning with an ordinary knife and a small vial about an inch long.

“I’m sure you know what to do, Mr. Potter.”

Harry took the offered knife, and with no reaction whatsoever, dragged the sharp blade over his middle finger, breaking the skin and making a shallow cut. As the blood began to leak out, he placed his finger over the vial, letting the crimson fluid flow slowly into the vial. It took several minutes, but the vial was eventually filled to the brim with his blood. Pulling his finger away, Harry wrapped his hand around the cut, and with a silent  _ Episkey _ , healed it.

Ollivander sealed the vial, “Thank you so much for your cooperation, Mr. Potter. I promise you I won’t let you down.”

“I should hope not,” Harry replied, “Not often do I put my trust in others, and I expect it to be honoured.”

“Of course, Mr. Potter. You have my word. Now let me see you off.”

Ollivander guided Harry back to the door, leading him back into the shop proper, which had been decluttered of all the failed wands from earlier. At the same time, Sprout re-entered the shop by the front door.

“Oh! Mr. Potter, how did it go?”

“Very well, Professor.”

“I have everything set to make Mr. Potter’s wand by the end of the coming fortnight, Professor,” said Ollivander.

“Make? You mean from scratch?” Sprout was surprised.

“Indeed,” the wand-maker nodded, “A formidable challenge awaits me, but one I am approaching with glee and enthusiasm.” He then turned to Harry, “As promised, Mr. Potter, I will contact you via owl to inform you of the date to pick up your wand.”

“I will remember that. Thank you for your troubles.”

“Oh it’s my pleasure, Mr. Potter.”

Business concluded, Harry went to join Sprout. Giving the wand-maker one last nod, he turned to the older woman, “I believe we have settled everything?”

“That is correct, Mr. Potter,” Sprout nodded as the pair left the shop.

“In that case, I believe that we should be going our separate ways until we meet again on the first of September, Professor.”

Again, Sprout was unused to the formally-cold, detached manner of speaking the lad adopted. Unsure of what to say, she considered her words, before going with them, “Very well, Mr. Potter, do you wish for me to escort you back home?”

“There’s no need, Professor,” Harry shook his head, “But before we part, I need to ask you first. Are you going to report back to the Headmaster about today’s events when you return to Hogwarts?”

“I...suppose I have to, Mr. Potter.”

“Then keep in mind what I said about the senile, manipulative fucker. His appearance is misleading, and he will no doubt try to influence, or Merlin forbid, control my life and choices once I enter his death-trap of a school. As a word of advice, you’d best not go to deep into what happened today when asked. Same something simple, or generic if you must. Don’t let Dumbledore know of anything unusual about me, at least until I arrive on the first. I want him to maintain whatever delusion he has of me until I get the chance to shatter it right in front of his Merlin-damned twinkling eyes.”

Sprout again was unnerved by just how caustic the lad sounded when his expression remained frigidly-calm. 

“I’ll take my leave now, Professor. Be careful with the floo.”

Harry gave her a parting nod, turning on his heel and walking off back towards the Leaky Cauldron, leaving behind a contemplative Herbology professor with a lot to think about.

—————————

Once he reached the back courtyard of the Leaky Cauldron, the last bricks sliding into place behind him, Harry glanced about to make sure he was completely alone. 

He closed his eyes, envisioned his room back in Peckham, and spun on his heel. There was a soft  _ crack _ , and he disappeared from the courtyard with no one none the wiser. Three seconds later, he landed with hardly a blink in his messily-organised room. With a sigh, he stepped over to his bed, and sat down heavily onto the mattress.

Harry undid the top two buttons of his shirt, reached inside and fiddled the pendant with the teardrop emerald he wore. He stared off into space pensively.

‘Jacob, watch over me. The fateful day approaches.’

 

* * *

**To Be Continued.**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again this story has fallen by the way-side. Let's hope I can continue a regular update, it becomes really irritating to keep blowing the dust off of this story and having a sneezing fit each and every time.
> 
> So a few things to cover first before we wrap things up:
> 
> I received a lot of feedback over whether Harry is cold enough, and suggestions on establishing a level of coldness that compliments his character in this story and doesn't make him to unlikeable. It was primarily this reason that took me so long to sort out, but eventually I've put down several characteristics about Harry's coldness:
> 
> 1\. Harry is polite to strangers and acquaintances, but there is no warmth in his words. He is extremely blunt and will tell things to their faces, regardless of whether it comes out as biting or insensitive. His tone will also be stoic and emotionless, with several helpings of deadpan.
> 
> 2\. Harry is a literal ice-king with the people he dislikes. He will keep any interaction to the barest minimum. But if forced, he will verbally tear into that person with no regard for the person's feelings or emotional state. The foulest insults will fly, and if sufficiently angered, spells will fly.
> 
> 3\. Harry will go completely berserk on the people he despises. There will be no room for words, just physical violence and rapid spell-firing. Bloodshed is common when he reaches this stage. Serious injury and death can also occur in the most extreme cases.
> 
> 4\. For the rare friends (and more), Harry is protective and will defend them to his dying breath. These individuals are also given the privilege of seeing him smile.
> 
> On a different note, I would also like to put forward a message stating that this story is inspired by two other Harry Potter fanfiction stories over on ff.net - namely Harry Crow and Itachi, Is That a Baby?. I highly recommend my readers to check out these stories, Harry Crow has an amazing storyline while Itachi, Is That a Baby is certainly one to leave you in stitches from laughing too hard (at least for me, anyway). (Edit 19/11/2019: But I should put a warning out that ‘Itachi, Is That A Baby’ is rated M (meaning 16 years and above only, according to Fanfiction.net guidelines) due to violence and non-explicit references to sexual content. My apologies for this oversight, and please browse safely, dear readers.)
> 
> So anyway, that's all from me for now. As usual protocol stands, your feedback and kudos are greatly appreciated, flaming of any sort will not be tolerated.
> 
> Party on, my dear readers!
> 
> \- SilentGhostWriter2017


	4. The Wand of Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry receives his new wand from Ollivander, to destructive repercussions.

As promised, two weeks after his visit to Diagon Alley with Professor Sprout, Harry heard the sounds of a beak tapping against the window as he was filing away papers on the activity of rival gangs in the area. 

 

Stowing away the file, he got up from his desk, and opened the window, letting the barn owl fly into his room. Eira watched curiously from the bedpost. Settling down on his desk, the owl hooted, gesturing towards the letter it dropped on the writing pad. Harry sat back down, opening a drawer and pulled out a bag of owl treats. Plucking out a few pieces, he let the owl snack on its reward as he broke open the wax seal on the envelope. Pulling the letter out, he began to read.

 

_ Mr. Potter, _

 

_ Your wand is ready for your inspection. I’ve closed the shop after the lunch hour to ensure complete privacy when you receive your wand. Knock on the door three times - two short and one long - to let the wards know who you are. I’ll then let you in. _

 

_ I hope to see you soon. _

 

_ Garrick Ollivander _

 

Harry nodded. Putting the letter down, he pulled out a blank piece of paper and began to write a reply.

 

_ Mr Ollivander. _

 

_ Glad to hear that you remain true to your promises. I will see you in the coming hour. _

 

_ Harry Potter _

 

He folded the paper and slipped it into an empty envelope. Sealing it, he passed it to the owl.

 

“Off you go.”

 

The owl hooted, taking the letter in its beak. The bird unfurled its wings and flew out of the room through the open window. Eira trilled in curiosity. Harry turned to his pet, “Get ready, Eira. We’re going out.”

 

* * *

 

After finishing whatever outstanding business he had previously, Harry adjusted his shirt in front of a conjured mirror. Eira flapped over from the bed and landed on his shoulder.

 

“I hope you’re okay with apparition, Eira.”

 

The gyrfalcon trilled.

 

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

 

Another trill.

 

Harry focused his concentration on the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron. He spun on his heel, and disappeared with a soft  _ crack _ . Two seconds later, he appeared in the courtyard. Eira looked a little shaken, but she managed to compose herself after ruffling her feathers back into place.

 

Harry approached the stone wall, and tapped three times on the magical brick that opened the gateway to Diagon Alley. As the bricks opened and rolled away, Harry joined the bustling centre of commerce, a faceless shopper amidst the crowds going about their business.

 

Arriving at Ollivander’s shop, he tested the door. It was locked, and there was a sign reading “Gone for lunch” pinned to the door. Everything that Ollivander said was true.

 

Now it was his turn.

 

Harry raised a hand, knocked three times loudly, two short, and one long as the letter stated, and waited. After a few moments, there was an audible ‘click’ as the lock was undone, and the door opened slightly. Harry entered with Eira still on his shoulder. The door closed behind him, and lock fell back into place.

 

“Ah, Mr. Potter, impeccable timing, as expected of you.”

 

Ollivander emerged from the shelves, holding a wooden box.

 

“As promised, your wand is ready for you. Fourteen inches long, made of emerald and diamond, with the core of a feather from an unknown mystical bird and your blood. Come forward, Mr. Potter.”

 

The wand-maker placed the box on the counter, and opened it. Harry approached it and peered inside.

 

To say that the wand was beautiful and a masterpiece of creation would be a severe understatement. The body of the wand was a mix of sparkling diamond on the top half, smoothly morphing into a shimmering emerald down the bottom half. At the bottom end of the wand, an emerald cut into an octagonal sphere was fused to the body which flared a little to accommodate it. Wrapped around the emerald and running up the length of the wand was a filigree vine made of diamond with tiny leaves, and the fact that the leaves themselves had veins carved into them further impressed Harry. At the top end of the wand, the vine wound into a cone, holding a cut diamond in the shape of a crystal one might find in a cave.

 

Ollivander had certainly gone above and beyond to make this, Harry concluded without a doubt.

 

“Mr. Ollivander, can I just say that you are truly the greatest wand-maker in the entire world?”

 

“Your righteous praise fills my old heart with joy,” the man smiled genially, “But I believe you should hold such praise until you test your wand. You see, Mr. Potter, the last recorded account of someone wielding a wand made from precious stones was Sir Lamorak of the Knights of the Round Table, and even that account has been disputed by many. So go ahead, Mr. Potter, take your wand.”

 

Harry eyed the wand, his hand reaching out for it. He felt a distinct coolness as his fingers ghosted over the wand, like the sensation of frozen vapour rising from ice. When his fingers closed around the wand, the cold seemed to intensify, as if he had stuck his hand deep into a freezer. He picked the wand up, and stared at it. For a moment, nothing happened.

 

Until the wand started to glow an icy-blue light.

 

Harry released a breath, while Ollivander looked immensely pleased.

 

“Oh wondrous joy, Mr. Potter, your magic has become in-tuned with the wand. A rounding success, if I may say - ”

 

Ollivander’s gushing was interrupted by the wand glowing brighter. The temperature in the shop suddenly plummeted, the point that breaths became visible and the windows froze over in a thin layer of ice. Wind from an unknown origin began to blow through the shop, sending light objects flying  all over the place and fluttering hair. Then, the diamond shimmered brightly. Out of nowhere, a flurry of snowflakes burst from the diamond, swirling around the shop. Harry was completely stock-still, watching as more snowflakes appeared from his wand at an increasingly-faster rate up towards that of a blizzard. The wind was also getting stronger and louder by the second, to the point that heavier objects that weren’t nailed down were now flying across the room and the howling of moving air became almost deafening. The shelves were groaning under the intense pressure of the wind, and the accumulating snow was increasing the load they were forced to carry.

 

Forced to take refuge behind his counter, Ollivander tried to call out, “M-Mr. Potter!”

 

But the lad remained frozen, seemingly deaf to the wand-maker, even to Eira who was crying frantically as she tried to flee the chaos. Now the sound of the wood splintering mixed with the howl of the wind, along with the crash of metal and the smashing of glass. As the entire shop was thoroughly ravaged, Harry remained impervious to it all.

 

Inside though, his thoughts were running at a thousand miles per hour, much to his chagrin. Having one's thoughts go astray was something that he was trained to avoid, for having an incoherent thought-process could easily lead to panic, and that more often than not led to an untimely end. But try as he might, just like the wind and snow howling and swirling around him, his thoughts had gone completely berserk, not helped by the fact that seeds of uncertainty that were threatening to take root from the chaos happening around him.

 

No. He couldn’t let fear and panic consume him alive. He had to fight it, to tear the seeds out from his head and cast them into fire to burn away potential weakness before it could control him and destroy everything that he had built up for himself.

 

But with the howling wind and the shop falling to pieces around him, it was hard to concentrate. And the effort was further hampered by something calling out to him. Not Ollivander, the surrounding noise having done a good job blotting him out. No, it was a voice that was unearthly, no distinction between gender, and it seemed to be coming from the snowflakes that were swirling around the ruined shop.

 

_ Don’t fight it… _

 

Harry grimaced.

 

_ Embrace it… _

 

The voice seemed to be getting louder.

 

_ Embrace me… _

 

While Harry couldn’t figure out much of the voice, he could recognise it as what a mother would use to calm and soothe her child in turmoil. 

 

Mother…

 

His mother...

 

_ Don’t fight me, Harry. I will never hurt you. Embrace me… _

 

The boy didn’t remember the moment he was made an orphan by a power-crazed, psychotic mass-murderer, but the voice around him invoked a memory that hadn’t been seen for eleven years.

 

_ It was a scene of a family. A baby was sitting on a toy broom, flying about the living room, knocking over furniture and other fragile items. A bespectacled man was both overjoyed at the sight and trying to persuade his irate redheaded wife from systematically neutering one his best friends, the source of the toy broom. _

 

_ The woman was about to overpower her husband when she saw the look of joy on her baby son’s pudgy face as he zoomed about. Even she had to give him a look of resigned happiness seeing him so excited. (Even if she was going to murder that man who bought the broom right after.) _

 

Harry witnessed it all, particularly the redheaded woman. He recognised her, and his heart filled with yearning.

 

“Mom…”

 

Suddenly, the memory shifted, until just the woman remained. She turned to Harry with sad eyes, but ones that were filled with pride and hope.

 

_ “You have grown so much, my dear, and now it is time for you to become even more. Embrace your power, sweetheart. Let it become a part of you. Go on and soar to greatness.” _

 

Harry could feel tears beginning to form under his eyes, but they didn’t fall. He just felt a soothing calmness from the words of a loving mother parted from him by death. 

 

He closed his eyes, letting go of the fight and allowing his magic to take over. His hair started to rise with his magic, and when he opened his eyes, the emerald irises were completely shrouded by an icy-blue light, matching the glow around his wand.

 

“I accept this power. I will embrace it, on the memory of my mother, and the goodness of Mother Magic herself.”

 

The image of the redheaded woman smiled, closing her eyes as if she was at peace. She opened them again, and her irises were replaced by the same icy-blue light, with frigid mist billowing from the glow. The snowflakes rushing out from the wand dived towards her and Harry, swirling around them. Harry was suddenly lifted from the floor, and he rose several feet into the air. 

 

Ollivander gasped, “M-Mr. Potter!”

 

The snowflakes swirling around the woman began to shroud her from view, but the glowing eyes remained. The swirling frozen water-droplets coalesced into a form that Ollivander had never seen before. It was distinctly avian, extremely large with an expansive wingspan to the point it virtually overshadowed the shop, and the outlines of long feathers and plumes running down from its head and tail. Fierce talons promising great strength formed last, along with a beak.

 

“Oh Merlin’s decayed scrotum…!”

 

The avian flapped its wings languidly as it eyed the levitating boy. A song filled the ruined shop, one that told of cold, frigidness, the extinction of life and the emptiness of death. But at the same time, it sung of the beauty of ice and snow under light, of cold wind, and the magnificence of the  _ Aurora Borealis _ that danced in the night sky. A series of contrasts, but no less poignant and soulful.

 

Ollivander was so moved by the song that he almost missed the scene right after. The avian roared loudly, shaking the shop and sending trembles down his old bones. It unfurled its wings to full span, and it’s form began to sparkle and shine. While unbeknownst to the wand-maker, several snowflakes separated from the avian’s form and blew over to Harry’s wand, embedding themselves into the filigree vine. Another earth-shattering roar, and the avian seemed to burst into an orb of icy-blue light. It shot straight into Harry, and for the briefest of seconds, wings appeared to sprout out from the lad’s back as the shop shook with an outburst of energy. 

 

And just like that, the wind began to slow, the snowflakes stopped pouring out of the wand by the bucketload. What snow that still remained in the air was now falling to the floor in gentle cascades. Harry himself was also slowly descending back to the ground, his hair falling back down his shoulders.

 

“Mr. Potter…”

 

Ollivander slowly moved away from the counter, approaching the still-silent lad with some trepidation.

 

“A-Are you alright?”

 

Harry didn’t answer, the light shrouded his irises fading away. Ollivander bit back a gasp.

 

The lad turned to the wand-maker.

 

“Sorry, what did you say?”

 

“I-I said if you were alright, Mr. Potter.”

 

Harry looked down at his hands, still holding onto the wand, “I’m not sure if I can say ‘yes’, Mr. Ollivander, but...this feeling, it’s like I’ve never been so alive…”

 

The wand-maker nodded, “That is very true, Mr. Potter. You are certainly exhibiting it.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Ollivander conjured a hand-mirror, “See for yourself, Mr. Potter.”

 

Harry took the mirror, and peered at his reflection. His eyes widened slightly.

 

His once cold, almost lifeless emerald irises appeared to be glowing. Sure, they still lacked the brightness of an individual who had experienced joy and love, but the difference was noticeable. Further distinguishing the change, were the rings of icy-blue that encircled both irises. 

 

Harry noticed something else over his shoulder. Angling the mirror slightly, he bit back a gasp when he saw a streak of his long, black hair was now platinum-blond. Even his fringe had several locks of hair changed into blond.

 

“Interesting…”

 

“Indeed it is, Mr. Potter,” Ollivander nodded, “I am at a loss to how this change in your appearance happened, though I suspect it had something to do with the incredible vision I saw of that enormous avian creature and the blizzard that destroyed my shop.”

 

“So you weren’t the only one, huh?” Harry muttered mostly to himself. He returned the mirror, “That aside, my wand appears to be working.”

 

“Yes it is, and quite destructively, if I may add,” said Ollivander, glancing about the wrecked remains of his shop - everything covered in slowly-melting snow, shelves reduced to splinters and wands scattered all over the place like fallen dominos. 

 

“My apologies for that,” said Harry, “I can cover the cost of the repairs from my Gringotts account?”

 

Ollivander shook his head, “No need to trouble yourself, Mr. Potter. All this can easily be repaired. And besides, it’s been far too long since I last cleaned the shop. You did me an immense favour by giving me a head-start. I thank you for that.”

 

Harry shrugged, “If you say so.”

 

“I’m very sure, Mr. Potter,” the wand-maker smiled resolutely, “Now, before you go, I need to tell you something very important. Unlike all of the wands I have previously made, your wand does not have the required Ministry trace in it. Also, since it is made up of precious stones instead of wood, spells like  _ priori incantato  _ will be impossible to cast. And since you are connected to your wand by blood, your wand cannot be summoned by others, nor can  _ expelliarmus  _ work against you. I am no seer, but these important details will be key to your ascent to greatness. Again, whether positive or negative I cannot predict. But either way, your wand will be your companion, so use it well.”

 

“I promise that I will, Mr. Ollivander,” Harry nodded, “How much do I owe you for your work?”

 

“Every wand carries the same price - seven galleons.”

 

“Surely this masterpiece warrants a bigger sum?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

 

Ollivander remained steadfast, “As I said, seven galleons. That is the only price I will accept. Nothing more, nothing less.”

 

Harry understood when to give in, “Very well.” He pulled out his Gringotts pouch from yesterday, and fished out exactly seven gold coins. He dropped them into the wand-maker’s hand.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Potter. As a parting gift, I took the liberty of purchasing a wand holster for you,” Ollivander snapped his fingers and the holster appeared in his hands, “We wouldn’t want you to spell your buttocks off by accident now, do we?”

 

“I thank you for your foresight and generosity, Mr. Ollivander,” Harry nodded, taking the holster and wrapping it around his waist. Once secured, he slipped his new wand into the holder.

 

“Oh the pleasure is all mine, Mr. Potter,” the wand-maker smiled, “It has been most fruitful doing business with you.”

 

“Likewise, Mr. Ollivander. I’ll take my leave now.”

 

“Take care, Mr. Potter.”

 

With a parting nod, Harry departed from the ruined shop and stepped back into the busy commerce of Diagon Alley. Envisioning his room in his head, Harry spun on his heel and apparated away with a  _ crack _ . Watching him disappear, Ollivander turned back to his ruined shop.

 

He’ll have to change the sign at the door to ‘Closed All Day, Be Back Tomorrow’. This was going to take the rest of the day to sort out.

 

* * *

**To Be Continued.**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, so this chapter is shorter than the usual, because I felt that Harry receiving his wand warrants its own chapter rather than my initial plan to carry on until Harry's sorting at Hogwarts. The flow and atmosphere feels better in my opinion, but what do you guys think?
> 
> The scene with the avian is actually based on an old deleted Harry Potter fanfic that I wrote when I was just starting out in the fandom. I don't know if anyone remembers it here, but it was called 'Harry Potter and the Phoenix of Beauxbatons'. In that story, Harry was rescued by from the wreckage of his home at Godric's Hollow by a muggle Frenchwoman following Voldemort's demise. He was taken to France and was supposed to start his magical education in Beauxbatons, but I quickly realised I didn't have a lot to work with and without the direction or plot to flesh it out, I decided to abandon the story and delete it.
> 
> Also, I don't have a visual of the wand right now, but I took inspiration from the wands made by JustALevel and the Green Goddess Power Wand by 13Moons. I may try to draw it out sometime, but no promises.
> 
> So anyway, same protocol applies. Feedback and kudos are greatly appreciated, flaming of any sort will not be tolerated.
> 
> Cheers everyone, have a great weekend!
> 
> \- SilentGhostWriter2017


	5. Towards Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry packs up and travels to Hogwarts, quietly waiting in silence for the right moment to spring his return to the magical world. And his sorting proves to be interesting too.

A week passed, and the first of September dawned over the dreary roads and buildings of Peckham. 

 

Inside his room, Harry was making final checks to ensure that everything was packed inside his expandable trunk - books, robes, stationary, the lot. Eira was conspicuously absent, already halfway up the island in the direction towards the Scottish Highlands. Her cage was already stowed inside the trunk.

 

The last item Harry had placed in was a set of expensive fountain pens under the stationary compartment. He had tried practicing to write with a quill, having used pens his entire life. But he found it frustrating that the quills he bought were not as he had hoped they were. Despite being dipped into ink multiple times, Harry would find his writing suddenly cut off in between alphabets. And if he pressed too hard, the nibs split into two.

 

Although easy to fix with a simple  _ reparo  _ spell, it was bloody annoying for Harry. So after burning the quills with a ball of fire, Harry travelled to upscale London and picked up a set of fountain pens from Montblanc®.

 

The box safely stowed away, Harry closed his trunk. With a wave of his hand, it shrank down to the size of a postage stamp. Slipping it into his pocket, Harry wandlessly turned off the light and stepped out into the living space. A group of teens were spaced throughout the room, busy doing their own things or quietly talking to one another.

 

“Everyone, listen up.”

 

All eyes turned to Harry.

 

“I’m about to depart to my new school. I won’t be coming back until Christmas, but even in my absence, I expect everyone to remember the rules I laid down. I do not wish to have to resort to whatever I have to do if I find out that any one of you had broken them, but I will not hesitate to do so if you force my hand. Am I clear?”

 

“Yes, King!”

 

“Good, then I’ll see you in December.”

 

Harry turned on his heel and headed into the bathroom, leaving the teens to resume whatever they were doing. Staring at his reflection in the mirror, Harry gave his appearance a look-over. He had his long hair pulled back and tied up in a top-knot ponytail, leaving his forehead exposed. Harry never had to worry about other magical people recognising him, that Merlin-damned scar hadn’t been a problem for the past four years.

 

Well...it can’t be a problem if it wasn’t there anymore, right?

 

Threading his fingers down the cascading locks, he eyed the stripe of blond hair contrasting to his natural black. Even a week in, he was still unused to seeing the break in his natural hair colour. But he had to admit that it did look good on him, as with the icy-blue rings around his irises.

 

If anything, these features helped to hide the fact that he was the Boy-Who-Lived until he was ready to throw the curtain open to everyone watching.

 

Nodding to himself, Harry stepped out of the bathroom and beelined back into his room, locking the door behind him. He released a breath, hand rising up to feel the emerald pendant behind his shirt.

 

‘Jacob, wish me luck. I’m going to need it.’

 

Harry closed his eyes, and pictured his desired location in his mind. Spinning on his heel, he apparated with a  _ crack _ . 

 

* * *

 

Three seconds later, he popped back into existence in an alley in London. Brushing down his shirt and pants, Harry emerged into the daylight. Kings Cross Station was just across the road from where he was standing. Harry joined the flow of human traffic headed for the station, blending in with the crowds. Entering the station proper, he surveyed the busy main entrance hall a bit. 

 

One of the things he never understood about the journey to Hogwarts was why proper meals were not served on board. Yes, he heard of the snack-cart, but that was far from enough. It was a long train-ride up to Scotland, usually taking the better part of the day to cover. While parents could easily pack lunch for their kids (if they even did so in the magical world), shouldn’t Hogwarts cover that?

 

But then again, he wasn’t a sweet-tooth, so there’s that to consider.

 

Anyway, Harry was looking for a shop that sold take-away meals for long train rides. Spotting a Japanese restaurant not too far away, Harry nodded to himself. Ten minutes later, he walked away with two large bento boxes, each one meant for two people. 

 

His lunch sorted out, now was the business of getting to the platform.

 

Taking the escalators down to muggle platforms, Harry searched for platform nine. Weaving through the throngs of people moving and rushing about, he turned his attention to the wide stone colonnade separating Platforms Nine and Ten. He made no move, his eyes closed. The memory of Jacob bringing him here when he was six played in his mind. He remembered running through the barrier hand-in-hand with Jacob, and looking around in repressed awe at the magical platform and the magnificent locomotive that was the Hogwarts Express. He also remembered Jacob telling him that he’ll be boarding that train in several years, which brought him back to the present day, standing in front of the gateway between magic and mundane, carrying two bento boxes.

 

Harry opened his eyes, staring firmly at the stonework. Releasing a breath, he braced himself, before making a running start towards the pillar. Just as he was about to hit it, the stonework gave way to darkness, and the slightly-unpleasant feeling of being forced through a bottleneck. The squeeze was released, and Harry stepped into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. 

 

It was the same as when he visited five years ago. Architecture-wise, the platform was built similar to its muggle counterparts. The difference lay with the magnificent red and black locomotive that was the Hogwarts Express, steam billowing out and spreading across the platform like fog. Everywhere Harry looked, life was abuzz with parents hugging and bidding their children farewell, people boarding the long line of carriages behind the steam engine, others just hanging around talking to one another or doing their own solitary business. Overhead, owls flew around, and Harry spotted many a cat wandering the platform.

 

Harry glanced at the clock hanging from the wall - another hour to go before the Express was to depart for Hogwarts. No reason to not board the train now, better be early than late.

 

He weaved through the crowd, beelining towards the second carriage behind the engine. As he was climbing the steps to board the carriage, Harry heard laughter from somewhere on the platform. Normally, he would have just dismissed it as background noise on the bustling platform, but it was the tone of the laughter that made him pause, and frown.

 

The laughter was derisive, and mocking.

 

He turned back, and immediately found out why. 

 

Not too far from him, was a dark-skinned girl no more his age with long, untamed bushy hair. She was dragging her obviously-heavy trunk towards the first carriage with great difficulty. She paused before the steps, her eyes filled with worry and unshed tears over how she was going to lug her trunk up into the carriage. From Harry’s observation, she was muggleborn, only just exposed to magic and having no real experience with it. Behind her standing against the wall, were three girls in Slytherin robes, upper-years they appeared. They were the ones who were laughing and pointing at the struggling girl, watching with contempt and disdain.

 

Harry’s frown deepened into a scowl. This would not do.

 

Raising his free hand, he casted a feather-weight charm on the African girl’s trunk, which almost sent her stumbling forward when the dead-weight holding her back suddenly gave way to lightness. Turning away from the confused girl, Harry turned his ire towards the trio of Slytherins. From his fingers, a delayed  _ incendio _ was cast. 

 

What Harry loved about delayed spells was when dealing with someone (duelist, enemy or simple annoyance in the form of a human), the delayed spell can be cast first, and when the opponent was hit by a second spell right after, the first spell will catch them off-guard while they are still reeling, doubling the damage done.

 

In this case, three unseen balls of fire shot towards the Slytherin girls. Exactly three seconds later, the balls ignited into small flames on the girls’ hair and clothes.

 

Screams quickly brought all activity on the platform to a halt as the girls flailed about in terror, the fire consuming their hair and robes like a hungry beast. In their panic, they completely forgot how to use their wands to put out the flames. A porter had to do the job for them, but his  _ aguamenti  _ spell came out too strong, not only forcefully extinguishing the fires but also blasting the three girls into the wall behind them. 

 

People began to crowd around the downed trio. They were all dripping wet, what little of their hair that wasn’t consumed by fire were now smouldering wisps falling over their make-up streaked faces, their robes blackened and falling to pieces. They were clearly in shock, staring blankly ahead as they tried to comprehend what had just happened. Then came the tears, and wails.

 

Harry sniffed at the pitiful sight. Casting one last look at the African girl (she was horrified by the sudden escalation of events), he climbed the remaining steps and entered the carriage. 

 

Closing the door behind him, Harry traversed down the corridor for an empty compartment to claim as his own. He had no desire to interact with anyone during the journey, nor did he want to be in the same confinement with a stranger who he didn’t trust to not try anything funny with him. The problem was, it seemed that every compartment in the second carriage was taken. Harry could see students in groups gathered in the compartments, some pairs, trios, while other compartments revealed only one occupant inside. 

 

Harry sighed. Looks like he had to try a different carriage then.

 

He tried his luck with the third carriage from the engine. But just when it seemed that this carriage was a repeat of the one that preceded it, the last compartment at the end of the carriage turned up empty.

 

Perfect.

 

Harry slid the door open, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him. Putting the bento boxes down on the plush upholstered seats, Harry set to work to make this compartment his own. He cast a locking charm on the door, followed by transfiguring a few sheets of paper from his trunk into curtains that he hung and closed over the windows facing the corridor and the one overlooking the platform. 

 

Satisfied with his work, Harry stepped back down into his trunk to search for a book to pass the time. There was still an hour to go, after all.

 

* * *

 

The sound of the train’s whistling screeching across the platform was loud enough to interrupt Harry’s reading on the different properties and usage of Ashwinder Eggs, one of the key ingredients in the creation of  _ Felix Felicis _ , or as it was also known as, ‘liquid luck’. It was an interesting read if one were to overlook the boring theory and technical jargon, but Harry had no intention of skipping potentially important information. A lot of wizarding texts and recipes on potion-making had a plethora of errors and steps, that after some investigating and research, were found to be redundant or had the potential to be improved. Growing up, Harry made it a hobby to find whatever potions texts he could get his hands on, and make alterations to the recipes based on his knowledge of potion-making and any discoveries he had made so far.

 

Perhaps one day he could publish those discoveries, but now was not the right time to do so. It would just draw too much attention to himself. He’ll wait until he started Hogwarts and showed his skill in potion-making before making such a move.

 

Anyway, the loud whistle momentarily broke his concentrated reading, followed by somewhat muffled noise coming from the platform. Putting the book down, Harry peeled the curtain back a bit and peered out of the window to see what the fuss was all about. 

 

The people on the platform - mainly parents or guardians - were waving, some with handkerchiefs. Several had tears in their eyes, but others were treating the occasion as if it was something routine and nothing to really cry over. 

 

‘Ah, the Express is departing.’

 

True enough, Harry could feel the train slowly inching forward, the chugging of the pistons getting to work echoing through the compartment, followed by more loud whistles. He watched with detachment as the platform began to slide past, going faster as the train picked up speed. Within seconds, the view outside his window changed as the station disappeared behind, replaced with the buildings of northwestern London speeding past.

 

Harry closed the curtain again. Time to get back to his reading.

 

* * *

 

Harry had just put down the second empty bento box when he heard the sound of wheels moving and rattling coming from the corridor. The noises stopped outside his compartment door, followed by knocking. Harry wandlessly undid the locking charm and opened it with a wave of his hand.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Anything from off the cart, dear?” the kindly woman outside his compartment asked.

 

Harry eyed the cart with a critical look. The three-tiered trolley was stacked high with just about every confection and sweet the magical world had to offer. Sure, there were a few items that resembled proper food (like the pumpkin pasties that he didn’t quite like, far too sweet for his taste), but they were barely seen over the mounds of sugary toothache-inducing monstrosities that were sure to give him diabetes simply for looking at them for too long. Furthermore, he had just finished enough food for four people. There wasn’t going to be much space in his stomach for anything more until dinner time when he arrived at Hogwarts.

 

“No thank you,” Harry shook his head politely, “I’ve just eaten.”

 

The woman nodded, pushing the cart on further down the train. Once she had gone, Harry slid the door shut and locked it. Vanishing the two empty bento boxes, Harry picked up his book again and continued reading.

 

He got half an hour in and was just getting to the dangers of using dittany stalks in the wrong potions when someone started knocking on the compartment door again. Harry tried to ignore the incessant noise, which only grew louder and more insistent the longer he left it. Stifling a groan, Harry transfigured his clothes into Ravenclaw robes, before unlocking the door and opening it.

 

“Yes?”

 

At the doorway, stood a lanky redhead with freckles spanning his face. He was dressed in second-hand robes, had a bit of dirt on his nose, and a rat was perched on his shoulders.

 

“Is it true? Harry Potter is on the train?”

 

Harry did not hesitate, “No.” He wandlessly closed the door on the redhead’s face, locking it right after.

 

He heard the muffled “Stupid prat” behind the door, and footsteps stalking away. Harry rolled his eyes, and went back to his reading.

 

One hour later (including a brief moment to peek outside the window to view the scenery - lush fields and animals abound), someone came knocking again. Hoping it was not the redhead from earlier, Harry unlocked the door for the third time and opened it.

 

“Yes?”

 

This time, it was the same African girl with bushy hair that he had helped back on the platform.

 

“Sorry, but did you happen to see a toad wandering around here? It belongs to a boy named Neville Longbottom.”

 

Harry shook his head, “No, I haven’t.”

 

“I see. Thanks anyway,” the girl was about to close the door when she suddenly remembered something, “Oh by the way, is it true that Harry Potter is on the train with us? I heard others speculating around the compartments.”

 

“I wouldn’t know,” Harry lied smoothly with a shrug, “I’m just a third-year Ravenclaw trying to get some studying before the new school year.”

 

He had hoped that it would be enough to send the girl on her way and leave him in peace. But it seemed his response only furthered her curiosity.

 

“Really? What are you studying?” she asked as she slipped into the compartment, closed the door behind her, and sat down opposite from him.

 

Harry bit back the groan threatening to rumble out of his throat, “Potions, specifically about ingredients.”

 

The girl nodded, “You seem to like reading a lot.”

 

“If it means maintaining top grades,” another lie, but she didn’t need to know that.

 

“I like reading too,” the girl replied, “even more so when I was exposed to magic for the first time. You see, I’m the first to have magic in my family, so could you imagine the surprise I got when I received my Hogwarts letter and Professor McGonagall arriving at my house to take me to Diagon Alley to get my supplies! Suddenly, everything made much more sense, why I was different and the weird things that keep happening to me! This is a whole new world to me, and there’s so many things to learn about! Like, I read through  _ Hogwarts, A History  _ and-”

 

Harry cleared his throat. The girl stopped her rambling, a blush faintly visible over her dark cheeks.

 

“Oh...s-sorry, I tend to go off-tangent when I’m excited.”

 

“I understand,” Harry replied tonelessly, “Speaking of which, weren’t you supposed to be helping your friend find his toad?”

 

Her eyes widened, “Right! I completely forgot! Um...I guess I’ll leave you to your studying then?”

 

Harry nodded, watching her hurry out of the compartment, closing the door behind her. He locked it wandlessly, then going back to his reading. Hopefully no one else would disturb him now.

 

On hindsight, he probably should have realised that would be next to impossible. He could hear excited gossip coming from the corridor outside, and more often than not, his name was the primary topic. Sometimes, he would see the silhouettes of peepers trying to peer through the curtained windows. And things came to a head half an hour later when someone pounded against the compartment door as if trying to break in.

 

Harry would have ignored the incessant noise, but the door was already shaking from the strength of the pounding. Not wanting to be held liable for damage to school property, he wandlessly opened the door just the pounding resumed, causing whoever it was that was banging their fist against the door to stumble into the compartment.

 

He was unimpressed by the sight. The boy was no older than him (probably), and he looked extremely brutish and oafish, altogether not a pleasant sight to look at. And if Harry had to guess, the boy lacked basic intelligence to go with the troll-like look. Come to think of it, maybe he was descended from a troll?

 

Harry waved that thought away, “Yes? How may I help you?”

 

From outside, a unpleasantly-familiar voice said, “Crabbe, pick yourself up this instant.”

 

Harry inwardly groaned. He didn’t want to deal with the ponce, but looks like he had no choice in this.

 

The boy, Crabbe, slowly pulled himself up, just as a shorter boy with slicked-back platinum-blond hair and sharp features stepped inside the compartment, followed by another brutish oaf which made Harry wonder if he and Crabbe were brothers.

 

His attention though, was on the blonde, or rather, Draco Malfoy. Harry had to repress the look of contempt that was threatening to break his neutral mask.

 

“They are saying that Harry Potter is on the train,” the Malfoy scion drawled, “Are you him?”

 

Harry deadpanned him, “Does it look like I am Harry Potter to you? I’m a third-year Ravenclaw.”

 

Malfoy scrutinised him. He had become suspicious when he and his goons chanced upon a compartment that somehow had curtains obscuring the windows while others didn’t. But at the same time, while the black hair and emerald irises seemed like dead giveaways, the blond stripe running down the long hair, lack of spectacles and scar and the blue rings around his irises seemed to refute the notion.

 

Add that he was in Ravenclaw robes and holding a rather thick book on potions ingredients made the blonde believe his suspicions were wrong. 

 

“My apologies. Crabbe, Goyle, we’re going.”

 

Both oafish lumps grunted, furthering Harry’s belief that they were related and had troll blood in their ancestry. Once the trio had gone, Harry sighed in relief. He wanted nothing to do with the Malfoy scion, not buying into that pureblood nonsense and blatant bigotry the spoiled heir was practically radiating.

 

He had also reached his limit on the number of people barging into his personal space. So once the door slid closed, Harry locked it and wandlessly casted a  _ muffliato  _ spell on the door and adjacent windows, blocking out any sound coming from the corridor.

 

Once done, Harry went back to his reading.

 

———————————

 

**_“The Express will be approaching Hogsmeade Station in fifteen minutes_ ** ,” an automated voice crackled from a speaker overhead,  **_“All students, please leave your trunks and other belongings on the train and prepare for disembarkation. Thank you.”_ **

 

Harry conjured a bookmark and slipped it between the pages where he had been reading halfway before the announcement interrupted. Closing the book, Harry stepped back down into his trunk to stow it away. Stepping into the clothing compartment, he cancelled the transfiguration on the Ravenclaw robes he had been wearing for the past hours. He pulled a plain black Hogwarts robe and tie (they’ll change into his house colours once he had been sorted) and put them on. Smoothing down his robes in front of a mirror, Harry turned on his heel and stepped back up into the carriage compartment to wait for the train to arrive at the station.

 

Peering out through the window, he noted that the last vestiges of sunlight was already disappearing behind the horizon. Night had almost taken over, and he could barely see anything other than the stars twinkling in the backdrop of silhouettes that resembled trees.

 

Harry could feel the train already slowing as it reached its destination. The chugging of the pistons became more drawn out before stopping entirely, followed by one long whistle as built-up steam was released from the engine. Harry cancelled the  _ muffliato  _ charm on the door, allowing the chatter of students permeate the compartment. Harry waited until the voices started to thin out a bit before exiting his compartment and joining his schoolmates in alighting from the train.

 

The sudden onset of dropping early-autumn temperatures would have made most students shiver and either huddle in groups to maintain body heat or utilise warming charms to stave off the cold. For Harry though, he felt nothing as he stepped onto the platform.

 

Hogsmeade Station held not a candle to the grandeur of Kings Cross and Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. In fact, it seemed to literally hold only a few candles in metal lanterns that were failing to keep away the darkness descending upon the world. It was so dim that Harry could hear squeals, shouts and verbal curses from people accidentally tripping others, bumping into strangers, or stepping on each others’ robes. For Harry though, this was just a similar crowd situation like in Diagon Alley. He just artfully weaved his way through his fellow schoolmates.

 

Harry noted that most of the students were headed for the carriages pulled by thestrals (and yes, he could see the deathly creatures). But he knew that wasn’t where he was supposed to go.

 

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years! All firs’ years to me!”

 

Harry spotted a towering giant of a man with so much hair on his head and beard that it almost concealed his face, holding a lantern high up. Recognising him as Rubeus Hagrid, gamekeeper of Hogwarts and Keeper of the Keys, Harry slipped to the back of the group of first years surrounding the man, where he was apparently the last to do so. Hagrid seemed to be looking for someone, who Harry couldn’t fathom, and for a moment, a stricken expression broke his professional mask, before it was gone.

 

“Ev’ryone here? Follow me then. All firs’ years follow me, and mind the ground!”

 

Hagrid led the group of students down a very steep and muddy slope, made worse by what little light the lantern produced. Harry had no problems maintaining his step, but his fellow first-years were not so fortunate. Again, squeals and curses echoed as students slipped and stumbled on the uneven ground.

 

‘Has no one ever had the foresight to install railings for support?’ Harry wondered to himself, seeing a young boy fall on his bum.

 

Eventually, the ground evened out as the group approached the edges of a large body of water, small waves flowing and receding against a number of small boats sitting idly, waiting to be boarded. Harry couldn’t see anything beyond a few feet from the water’s edge, thanks to a blanket of dense mist that shrouded the beyond like a veil.

 

“No mor’ th’n four to a boat!”

 

Harry waited for the rest of the first years to take their places on the boats, before sliding into the last empty boat available. He preferred his solitude, thank you very much.

 

Hagrid got into his own boat in front of the pack. He then commanded, “Forwards!”

 

There was a slight rumble as the boats, on their own accord, pushed off from the ground into the water with rippling splashes. Harry relaxed in his seat, silently enjoying the crisp, moist air as the boats entered the veil of mist. For several moments, all that could be seen was condensed water vapour. But as the mist began to clear, a truly magnificent sight appeared before the awed first-years.

 

Against the backdrop of the starry night sky, Hogwarts Castle loomed large, tall and proud over the mountain it was constructed on. The castle had countless turrets and towers, windows alight from lantern or candlelight. If the Muggles could see the castle, it would be described as something right out of a medieval fairy tale.

 

Unlike the rest of the first-years, who were ‘oohing’ and ‘ahhing’ over the castle’s splendour, Harry was unimpressed. Sure, Hogwarts was imposing with its scale and all, but it was ultimately just a plain stone castle. He remembered visiting the beautifully built and designed architecture of the _Château de_ _Beauxbatons_ in southern France where the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic was housed with Jacob when he was eight. The sprawling gardens, fountains, marble columns, luxurious fittings and crystal chandeliers told Harry stories of sophistication, life and grandness. Hogwarts in comparison was just dead and dreary.

 

Harry sighed, turning away his attention from the approaching castle to the lake. Leaning slightly over, he let his fingers dip into the cool water, the moving boat leaving a small trail of ripples behind his submerged fingers.

 

He had to admit, it was quite relaxing.

 

Harry jolted, the soothing feeling suddenly shattering when something smooth wrapped around his fingers. He peered into the water. It was a large tentacle, connected to a massive cephalopod-like creature that was swimming in pace with the boats. The coos of delight from the other first-years became screams of terror when they noticed what was following them just below the surface.

 

Harry meanwhile relaxed. It was just the Giant Squid.

 

Ignoring the screams and Hagrid shouting for them to remain calm, Harry ran his thumb over the smooth tentacle, waiting for the squid to respond in turn. It replied by wrapping its tentacle around his hand and squeezing affectionately, clearly happy that here was a human that wasn’t terrified by its massive size. Another tentacle emerged from the water, inciting more screams. Harry didn’t even blink as the tentacle cupped his cheek, the suction gently pulling at the skin. He had to suppress a giggle when the tentacle pulled away, reaching further up to play with his hair, not really caring that he was getting wet from the squid’s affection. 

 

At this point, the screams died down into silent, fallen jaws as the first-years closest to Harry stared at him as if he was mad. Harry paid them no attention, it was just him and the squid.

 

By now his hair was completely drenched and sticking to his face and robes, but Harry was inwardly pleased, especially when the squid playfully booped his nose. But alas, all good times must come to an end. The boats were nearing the castle now, meaning the squid had to return to the lake. It retracted its tentacles, but kept them above water to give Harry something resembling a wave. Harry waved back, and the tentacles disappeared into the water as the squid swam away.

 

Leaning back into the boat, Harry wordlessly casted a heating spell over himself to dry off, when Hagrid at the front suddenly commanded them to duck.

 

The boats were entering a tunnel with long vines hanging over the entrance. Harry copied his fellow first-years in ducking low, but since he was taller than pretty much all of them, he still felt the vines brush over him as his boat entered the tunnel last. At least they weren’t wet.

 

The boats pulled up against a small wooden dock whose supports were covered in barnacles, and everyone disembarked. The first years were then made to wait on the dock while Hagrid climbed up a short flight of stone steps and pounded against the large wooden door at the top.

 

The door was opened a stern-looking witch with graying hair tied into a tight bun, dressed primly in dark-green robes and wearing a crooked pointy hat that reminded those who were aware of muggle culture of stereotypical witch hats.

 

“The firs’ years are here, Professor McGonagall, but I don’ see ‘im amongst ‘em!”

 

McGonagall, to her credit, maintained her stern demeanour even as Hagrid looked ready to break down into tears.

 

“Calm yourself, Hagrid. Are the numbers accounted for?”

 

Hagrid sniffled, “Y-Yes, Professor. I made sure th’ number matched up an’ all…”

 

McGonagall gave the gamekeeper a pointed look. It took a moment, but realisation eventually dawned on Hagrid’s face. The would-be tears stopped, and the towering man seemed much more relaxed.

 

“Everything will be cleared up during the Sorting,” said McGonagall, “You’re free to join the feast now, Hagrid.”

 

Allowing a happier Hagrid to enter first, she turned to the waiting first-years, “Everyone, follow me.”

 

McGonagall turned around and walked into the Entrance Hall with poised dignity. The group of students quickly followed after her, only stopping before her and a large set of double doors.

 

She turned to face them, and spoke imperiously, “Good evening to you all, first-years, and welcome to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am Professor McGonagall. In a short moment we will be entering the Great Hall where you will be sorted into your respective houses. In Hogwarts, we have four houses, namely Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. As students, your house will be your family. Your triumphs here will earn you house-points, and any transgressions will cost you points. The house at the end of the school year with the most points wins the House Cup. Now, wait here, the Sorting ceremony will begin shortly.”

 

On that note, McGonagall slipped back into the Great Hall. The moment the doors closed, conversation resumed between the first-years.

 

Harry, despite standing taller than his fellow students, made himself invisible by keeping silent, merely observing the students as he waited for the Scottish professor to return. It was also at that moment that Malfoy decided to speak and poison the atmosphere.

 

“Did you see that giant pathetic oaf? He looked ready to cry because his golden “Boy-Who-Lived” isn’t at Hogwarts! I don’t understand the frenzy, Harry Potter wasn’t even on the Express! And I think I know why,” eyes were turned towards the blonde ponce, “It’s simple really, and I should have realised this earlier. Harry Potter is dead! That must be the reason, I mean, how can a one-year-old baby destroy the Dark Lord?”

 

Harry pushed down the urge to publicly refute Malfoy’s claims. He figured, let the idiot dig himself into his grave. And when it’s his turn to be sorted, push all the dirt back into the hole by publicly revealing himself to the entire school.

 

For now though, he’ll not draw attention to himself.

 

“You’re a liar, Malfoy!” a honey-blond girl Harry recognised as Susan Bones declared hotly, “Just like your Death-Eater father!”

 

Malfoy sneered, “Well then, where in Merlin’s most holy name is Potter then? No one has seen him since he supposedly vanquished the Dark Lord. Even the Minister has no clue where he is. I should know, since he comes over for visits all the time.”

 

The dirt-on-nose redheaded boy who came to Harry’s compartment retaliated, “Dumbledore knows where Harry Potter is! And of course he won’t tell anyone his location! It’s to keep him safe from slimy snakes like you and the scum you call your family!”

 

Harry was bracing himself for a full-blown argument to take place when several first-years started screaming and pointing towards the ceiling. Looking up, he was just in time to see a whole parade of ghosts fly above them before phasing through the wall into the Great Hall. If he wanted to be honest, ghosts never really intrigued him that much. They were just a continuation of the people they were after death who didn’t want to move on to their next life just yet. And he wasn’t one to poke his head into other people’s business unless the need required.

 

As the last ghost disappeared, McGonagall reappeared, forcing everyone’s attention back on her.

 

“Everyone, form two lines, and follow me. We will begin the Sorting ceremony.”

 

There was a bit of a scramble to form the ordered lines, Harry shifted backwards to put himself at the end of the line, next to a stoic dark-skinned boy with a shaved head. Satisfied, McGonagall pushed the doors open, and led the two lines of first-years into the Great Hall. 

 

Harry’s expression remained completely blank, an outlier amidst the looks of awe from the other first-years as they marvelled at the immense hall, the thousands of floating candles and the enchanted ceiling made to reflect the night sky outside. He quietly observed the older students sitting in their respective house tables, watching them all with either curiosity or nonchalance. Harry turned away from the stares, looking straight ahead at the staff table. He barely stopped the scowl when his eyes flitted over Dumbledore, instead focusing his attention towards the pointy wizard’s hat on a stool from somewhere.

 

Having heard from Jacob about the Sorting years ago, Harry was the only first-year who didn’t express surprise when a face formed itself on the hat’s creases and folds, and it began to sing it’s traditional song which Harry couldn’t be bothered to listen to. After the hat had finished and the assembled students finished their polite applause, McGonagall produced a scroll from thin air.

 

“Abbott, Hannah!”

 

‘Ah...so we’re going by alphabetical order of family name,’ Harry remarked as the pigtailed blonde went up and sat down on the stool. The hat was placed on her head, and within three seconds, came “HUFFLEPUFF!”.

 

The list continued. Susan Bones went to Hufflepuff. Crabbe and Goyle went to Slytherin. The African girl whom he had helped and spoke to earlier on the train (whose name was Hermione Granger) sat on the stool for a minute or so before she was sorted into Gryffindor. Neville Longbottom was eventually sorted into Gryffindor too, but after five minutes in the stool looking absolutely terrified. The pudgy boy was so desperate to get up that he almost took the hat with him, if not for McGonagall’s quick reflexes. After that little hiccup, the sorting continued. The hat had not even touched Malfoy’s head when it sorted the scion to Slytherin. As the names moved on to the ‘P’s, Harry watched as two Indian twins, Parvati and Padma Patil, went their separate ways to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw respectively.

 

Finally, McGonagall called out, “Potter, Harry!”

 

Whatever conversation that was ongoing died instantly at the announcement of his name. The entire hall was staring at the remaining first-years, some craning their necks or standing up on the benches to get their first glimpse of the Boy-Who-Lived. Up on the staff table, Dumbledore was watching the unfolding scene with a small grin, his eyes twinkling madly behind his half-moon spectacles.

 

Harry released a breath. This was it. The moment where everything led up to. It was his turn now.

 

He stepped out of the group, and approached the stool with silent dignity. All around him, students were whispering to one another excitedly.

 

“Is it really him?”

 

“His hair is so long!”

 

“I don’t see a scar though…”

 

“He’s so tall!”

 

Harry sat down, facing the entire student body. McGonagall placed the hat over his head. Harry wrinkled his nose, it smelled of dust, as if it hadn’t been cleaned for years.

 

_ “I’ll have you know, Mr. Potter, that the smell is just from age, not a lack of hygiene!” _

 

Harry didn’t say anything back in response.

 

_ “Not one for small talk, aren’t you?” _

 

“Can we please get started?” Harry whispered.

 

_ “Sheesh, I just wanted to chat a bit! When you’re holed up in the Headmaster’s Office for three hundred and sixty-four days out of the entire year, it gets really boring having to watch Dumbledore scheme and plan his manipulations!” _

 

That piqued Harry’s interest, “You have misgivings about Dumbledore too?”

 

_ “I have been here since the day the Founders opened this school, Mr. Potter. I have seen many a headmaster or mistress come and go. But never in my existence have I seen a headmaster so desperate to control everything in his grasp and have such a blatant disregard for the consequences in his strive to achieve his goals.” _

 

“You and me both, Hat. You and me both,” Harry nodded.

 

_ “I’m glad that we have something in common, Mr. Potter. But enough from me, let’s see about you, eh?” _

 

Harry sat patiently as the Hat spent the next minute or two analysing his personality. He remained quietly still, even when the conversation around him began to comment on the long time the hat was taking.

 

_ “Very interesting...and oh my! Oh goodness me!” _

 

“Yes?”

 

_ “Never in my entire existence did I expect to sort the heir of Godric Gryffindor himself! On this day no less!” _

 

“Oh, that. Yeah, I found out I was his last living descendant and therefore his heir during a family tree blood test by the goblins several years ago.”

 

_ “Indeed, Mr. Potter,” _ the hat gave the appearance of a nod,  _ “It’s been many a year since we had family of the Founders grace our walls. And usually, this would have sent you straight into the house of your ancestor, but curious...very curious indeed…” _

 

“What do you mean?”

 

_ “While you bear the values of Gryffindor - nobility and bravery, there is more to you than meets the eye, Mr. Potter. Strangely, and quite unexpected of Godric’s heir, you have a fair share of cunning and ruthlessness too. If I didn’t know better, I’d be putting you in Slytherin as we speak!” _

 

“You pick up a lot of things when you live on the streets for a year and get involved in gang activity for the subsequent five years, Hat.”

 

_ “Quite true, Mr. Potter, quite true. Now let’s see...your desire for knowledge goes beyond the simple love of learning. You want to acquire knowledge not only to protect yourself and others, but to shake the foundations of everything that can be taught. You’d fit very well in Ravenclaw too, but again that would be jumping the gun. Your sense of loyalty and justice come strongly too, perfect for Hufflepuff. But you are only loyal to yourself, and your sense of justice often leads to violence and destruction if forced that way.” _

 

Harry hummed, his attention more on observing the growing restlessness from the rest of the student body over the prolonged decision-making. If he had to guess, he was nearing Longbottom’s record of five minutes, with the possibility that he might break that record.

 

“So what do you think, Hat?”

 

_ “A truly interesting case that is you, Mr. Potter. You embody the values of all the four houses of Hogwarts. Now, normally this would put me in quite the quandary over which house to put you, but I remember something dear Helga said which makes things so much easier.” _

 

“Oh?” now Harry was curious.

 

_ “Indeed, Mr. Potter. I remember being part of the meeting between the four Founders over the values and traits they expect their students to exhibit before before entry into their respective houses. Godric said bravery and nobility, Salazar favoured cunning and ambition, and Rowena called for intelligence, wit and a desire to learn. But it was Helga’s that I remember the most. She desired no specific trait or value, she said she’ll take them all. And I have the greatest confidence that you fit right into that mold, Mr. Potter.” _

 

Harry had an idea where the hat was going, and he was honestly indifferent to it. He had mentally prepared to be placed in any of the four houses, since Jacob told him that when he was nine. The hat’s decision honestly didn’t matter much to him.

 

“I’ll go wherever you place me, Hat.”

 

The hat chuckled, quite pleased with itself that it was about to drop a literal bombshell on everyone watching. It’s been a while since it had seen drama, after all.

 

_ “Very well, Mr. Potter. Better be  _ HUFFLEPUFF!”

 

* * *

**To Be Continued.**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, back again with another chapter, this time ending with Harry going to the house everyone least expected to.
> 
> I primarily chose Hufflepuff as Harry’s house because only a few serious fanfics have covered a Hufflepuff!Harry, and growing up on the streets and with Jacob leaves a lot of room for personal development that encompasses the values of all four houses, something that is important for Harry given his role in taking down Voldemort once and for all.
> 
> Being Gryffindor’s heir is both a nod to his canon house placement and an important plot-point in this story. How this will play out will be revealed in the next chapter and other chapters down the line, but it does involve a certain goblin-made sword.
> 
> So yeah, there really isn’t much to cover this time round, other than I hope that you all enjoyed this chapter so far. As usual, the same protocol stands. Your feedback and kudos are greatly appreciated, flaming of any sort will not be tolerated.
> 
> Thank you all, and have a pleasant week ahead!
> 
> \- SilentGhostWriter2017


	6. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout from Harry's sorting plays out.

_“Very well, Mr. Potter. Better be_ HUFFLEPUFF!”

 

You could have heard a pin drop.

 

The entire Great Hall had fallen as silent as an abandoned cemetery. There were those who were checking their ears to see if they had suddenly developed hearing problems or if they were going deaf. Some knew that their ears were fine, but they questioned whether their minds were playing tricks on them and considered making trips down to St. Mungo’s to consult mind healers. Others, who were absolutely certain that their brains and ears were functioning normally, were staring at the Sorting Hat with incomprehensible shock.

 

For Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the slayer of Voldemort, saviour of magical Britain, and last of the Potters - a family who had always graced the halls of Hogwarts under the banner of the lion in red and gold; had just been sorted into Hufflepuff. A house, which to many, has no real standing in the school and a place where the weak and inconsequential are cast aside to be forgotten and overshadowed. Surely the hat had just made a huge mistake. Someone like Harry Potter would be above the lowly badgers who have no meaning to the school.

 

But for an equal many sitting in the hall that evening, particularly those already in the house of badgers, that assumption towards those who bear the colours of yellow and black had just been destroyed. It was slow-going, battling against the petrifying shock, but the realisation that the hat made no mistake was starting to register and fill the vacuum.

 

Harry Potter had been sorted into Hufflepuff, and he has just sent the status of being a badger straight through the roof.

 

For his part, Harry was merely enjoying the stunned looks he was getting. The Hat seemed to be on the same field as well, joyfully revelling in the discord it had just set off.

 

_“Oh it’s been so long since a sorting has resulted in complete speechlessness, a nice change in tone if you ask me, Heir Potter.”_

 

Harry hummed.

 

_“Well anyway, I’d normally tell you to go ahead to your new house, Heir Potter, but something needs to be given to you first.”_

 

Harry was going to ask what it was when he felt something hit his head from inside the hat. Reaching his hand into the magical relic, his fingers closed around what seemed like a handle made of metal. Standing up from the stool, and using his other hand to lift the hat off his head a bit, Harry pulled whatever he was holding out into the open.

 

There was a sharp glint of light, and the sound of metal ringing. The shock that was beginning to wane with comprehension came back with full force and went up to the next level.

 

Harry was holding an extremely dangerous-looking, beautiful sword made of pure silver. The handle was imbued with large rubies that shimmered like pools of fresh blood under the candlelight. Just below the hilt, the name _Godric Gryffindor_ was carved.

 

The hat smiled, _“Your lineage allows you your birthright. Wear it with pride, Heir Potter. Hogwarts recognises you as the Heir of Gryffindor this wonderful night, and she celebrates your glorious return to her ancient walls!”_

 

A thunderous clang of a bell being struck rang across the Great Hall, startling everyone (sans Harry) and rattling everything that wasn’t nailed down. 

 

_“Honour your ancestor’s memory, Heir Potter, by donning the scabbard worn by Godric himself when he was alive.”_

 

Shimmering lights appeared from thin air, coalescing over the stool. A scabbard, as new as the day it was made over a thousand years prior, infused with rubies cut into four-sided diamonds of varying sizes running in a pattern along the shoulder-strap. The scabbard lifted off the stool, and flew towards Harry. It wrapped itself around Harry, allowing him the sheath the sword that was now his across his back. At the same time, the magic of Hogwarts shimmered yellow into his black school robes and tie, the crest of Hufflepuff swirling into appearance on his left chest.

 

_“Take care Harry Potter, Heir of Gryffindor and Twice-Prophesied One. The horizon may seem clear at the moment, but the weather can change as suddenly as life. Be careful, and do good.”_

 

The last title had Harry still for a moment, but he figured he could investigate it further later on. He handed a stupefied McGonagall the hat, and trooped down to the Hufflepuff table. He took a seat near Susan and Hannah, and only then did he address the fact that everyone, including his new housemates, were still staring at him with jaws hanging open.

 

“What?”

 

Like a bomb going off, an explosion of noise shattered the silence. Students were on their feet, shouting and pointing. Hufflepuff table had risen with celebration, cheering that the Boy-Who-Lived was now one of their own, and for the boost in status his inclusion into their house had brought. The dirt-on-nose redhead was staring at Harry, spluttering incoherently in a mix of shock and betrayal. His twin brothers at the Gryffindor table kept repeating, “We...didn’t get Potter?” to anyone who was listening and not adding to the ruckus. Meanwhile, at the Slytherin table, Draco was on the verge of erupting like a volcano. He had let his arrogance get the better of him, braying like a stupid donkey in an attempt to establish himself as the alpha male, only to get humiliated in front of his peers when stupid Potter revealed himself, having fooled everyone (including him) with his silence.

 

But while he, Draco Malfoy, had been metaphorically slapped in the face, it didn’t mean that he was down for the count. He could still achieve the goal his father had set him to do when he arrived at Hogwarts - to befriend the Boy-Who-Lived and convert him towards the Dark and the purity of blood, but only if he played his cards right. So as the rest of the Great Hall descended into bedlam, Malfoy began plotting his approach to the Boy-Who-Lived.

 

At the same time, someone else was plotting in response to Harry Potter’s unexpected sorting. Albus ‘too-many-fucking-pointless-middle-names’ Dumbledore was horrified that his weapon had not gone to Gryffindor as he had planned. He needed to amend this mistake quickly. But first, the students.

 

Dumbledore raised his wand and fired an exploding charm into the air. The blast silenced all noise as eyes turned towards him.

 

“Everyone, calm down, there’s no need to panic and make a huge fuss. There has clearly been a mistake with young Harry’s sorting, and as headmaster, I intend to correct that at once.”

 

That ignited a different set of noise. The entirety of Hufflepuff table (sans Harry) leapt to their feet, screaming and cursing in protest against their headmaster for even insinuating to take away what was rightfully theirs. Sprout, having overcome her immense shock at being mistaken in her belief that Harry would end up in Gryffindor and Ravenclaw as she had thought, let alone her _own house_ , was now glaring at Dumbledore with a scathing look. On the other end of the spectrum, however, the other students (unsorted and sorted, particularly in Gryffindor) were now excited that the Boy-Who-Lived might now become a part of _their_ house instead. 

 

For his part, Harry was unaffected and impervious to his housemates’ outrage. Because unlike virtually everyone else, he knew that despite Dumbledore’s posturing, such an attempt was doomed to failure. In fact, the rebuttal should be happening right about…

 

“SILENCE!” the Sorting Hat boomed, cutting off all noise.

 

...now.

 

“Albus Dumbledore, I am thoroughly ashamed of you!” the Hat scolded the headmaster, who was momentarily surprised at the caustic tone, “How dare you even _think_ of subverting my power, created by the Founders themselves as unmovable by the ordinary wizard?! Just who do you think you are?! You have no say over how I sort the students!”

 

The watching school (sans Harry) were staring dumbly at the irate hat. Never in living memory has the magical sorting relic spoken more than the names of the respective houses it was conjured to do.

 

Dumbledore was both shocked by the rebuke and being spoken back to. He fixed the hat a stern glare to show his outrage at being disrespected in front of the school, “I am the headmaster, and I demand-”

 

“Only at the discretion of Hogwarts!” the Hat declared, followed by another loud clang of a bell. Hogwarts had agreed. “Magic does not bow to you, Albus Dumbledore, unlike the people of this world! So unless you have truly gone senile and your oh-so-wise memory has begun to disintegrate, let me repeat myself one more time. You have no right or say over how I sort the students, and any attempt at trying to circumvent my authority will see locked out of your office and and quite possibly forced to leave Hogwarts entirely! She has put up with you merely because you are a powerful wizard. But the moment she finds about you endangering her or any of the students in any way, or exploiting your role as headmaster for your own means, you will be booted out of her walls before you can say all your middle names at once!”

 

For the third time, the bell of Hogwarts rang loudly over the Great Hall, signifying the castle’s seal of declaration over the Hat’s warning. The magical relic gave Dumbledore one last glare, before turning back to face the school, “My decision still stands, Harry Potter will remain in Hufflepuff where he belongs!”

 

The table of badgers was once again in celebration, many leaping over one another to shake Harry’s hand and trying to introduce themselves all at once. Harry remained stony-face, though irritation was slowly building up behind his impassive stare. 

 

He truly hated his fame.

 

Meanwhile, the other houses and unsorted students wallowed in their disappointment over not being able to claim status as Harry’s housemates, but most consoled themselves that they still have a chance to introduce themselves in classes or in the corridor. Draco was still plotting away, and Dumbledore was fuming. The headmaster has just been humiliated in front of the entire school like a stupid fool, but as much as he wanted to cast an overpowered _incendio_ on the Sorting Hat, he knew the ancient magic would protect the relic, and he didn’t want to test Hogwarts’ patience. 

 

Like the disappointed students, Dumbledore settled for the consolation that now that Harry Potter was a student of Hogwarts, he would now be able to force his weapon towards _his_ way of doing things.

 

As the Sorting slowly resumed, Harry reached the very limits of his tolerance with his housemates getting into his personal space and trying to engage him in conversation, mainly about where he had been for the past ten years and the sword he now carried. He closed his eyes and released his magic in a hemisphere of a shield. A third-year Hufflepuff had just reached over the table to shake his hand when the shield sent him tumbling backwards. Those closest to Harry also felt the push of the shield against them.

 

Harry opened his eyes, and those of a skittish disposition found themselves shuddering under the cold irritation from his glowing irises.

 

“Yes, I am Harry Potter. And it’s a pleasure meeting you all. Now can you all leave me alone? You should know it’s rude to barge into someone’s personal space unless given consent or you are close enough to the person, neither of which are applicable to anyone of you.”

 

The tone was polite, but there was a sharp edge and a frigid iciness that matched the glow of his irises. Many at the table shivered, though that may have been partly due to the sudden rush of cold that spread down the length of the wooden bench from Harry.

 

Said boy then turned away from his housemates, just in time to see the last first-year, the one he had been standing next to in line and going by the name of Blaise Zabini, get sorted into Slytherin. A slightly shaken McGonagall vanished the scroll and took her place in the empty seat at the staff table. Once she had seated, Dumbledore made his way over to a golden podium. Harry could see the old wizard trying his best to put on a kind, grandfatherly mask, though the effect was somewhat broken by his earlier behaviour.

 

“A warm welcome back to you all, and for those of you who are joining us for the first time this year, welcome to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. My name is Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of this fine establishment that will be your home for the coming years. Now I have several announcements, but I’m sure you’re all hungry after a long train-ride. So before we begin the Welcoming Feast, I just have a few words to say. Nitflick! Hacehook! Pweeter! Jinstoham! Thank you.”

 

Polite, stilted applause followed the headmaster’s speech. At the wave of the old wizard’s hand, food appeared in large platters and bowls across the four house tables. Plates, cutlery and goblets filled with pumpkin juice appeared next. The Great Hall soon became alive with conversation as everyone tucked in, though it was pretty clear who the topic of discussion was.

 

Pointedly ignoring the fact that he was being talked about left, right and centre, alongside the fact that his housemates were now inching away from him, Harry eyed the roasted chicken in front of him with barely-concealed disgust. It was practically oozing with oil and fat, enough to curdle his stomach. He didn’t want to imagine what it would do to his intestines if he ingested that. 

 

Then again, his body would probably purge it out instinctively if he tried.

 

Turning away from the chicken, Harry scanned the table for any other food that was even slightly more healthy. There was bread available, but his other options seemed pretty limited. Most of the meat platters appeared to be cooked in a similar way. The pies seemed to be fine, though Harry settled for one pork pie given he wasn’t sure what were the contents of the other varieties. There were a few platters of vegetables too, vastly outnumbered by the meat, but it was a safe food-type he could indulge in. 

 

Now the only trouble was that these platters were further down the table, completely out of arm’s reach. Harry debated with himself on whether to use magic in front of his housemates. While necessary, he didn’t want them to get any funny ideas should they witness his skills. 

 

But if he wanted to eat tonight...he’ll just have to be discreet then.

 

Harry slipped a hand under the table, fingers pressing against the wood. He channelled his magic through the table, into the platters in front of him. The platters rose off the table, hovering a foot or so in the air. Those sitting around Harry watched in amazement as he channelled more magic down the length of the table towards the vegetable platters. Those also rose from the table, attracting the attention of the students around them. Harry applied a bit more magic, and the levitating platters floated up and down the table, passing one another as they swapped places.

 

Setting the vegetable platters down in front of him, Harry waited for the conversation to pick up again before helping himself to serving after serving, namely made up of boiled carrots, peas, beans, and broccoli; mashed potatoes, and corn cobs. Plus that lone pork pie he afforded himself and several rolls of bread.

 

He had just finished his sixth helping when all the food suddenly vanished, and dessert took the table. Again, like with the snack-cart, he eyed the sugary diabetes-inducing concoctions with disdain. 

 

There was no way in Merlin’s holy arse was he going to touch any of that. Not on his life.

 

Instead, Harry turned his eyes to the staff table. Everything seemed normal, aside from several outliers. His new head-of-house, Sprout, and the half-goblin Charms professor and Ravenclaw head-of-house, Filius Flitwick, were eating normally. Severus Snape, all-round greasy illegitimate son of a bastard house-elf and Slytherin head-of-house, kept glancing towards him in between bites, as did a professor with a turban on his head. Harry could understand Snape’s actions, since he learnt about the bad blood between the potions master and his deceased father, James Potter, during their time at Hogwarts when he was little. The turbaned professor though...he wasn’t entirely sure. Besides finding it odd and a bit creepy, Harry filed that bit of information away for further reference. He had a distinct feeling that the professor was bound to come up again in the future. But moving on, Harry spotted McGonagall and Dumbledore engaged in a whispered, if heated conversation. Whatever they were truly saying Harry couldn’t hear, but if he had to guess, it was about him. At the other end of the table, Hagrid was drinking from his goblet, burping loudly.

 

If anything, Harry had to be careful around Dumbledore, Snape and the turbaned professor. Deep down, he knew those three will be his biggest headaches here in Hogwarts for at least the coming year. 

 

Speaking of Dumbledore, he stood up, and tapped his fork against his goblet. On cue, all the desserts vanished with a twinkle.

 

“Now that we are all fed and watered, we can proceed with the announcements. Our new first-years should be notified that the forest surrounding the school is forbidden to enter by _any_ student, the rest of you should already know this by now. Secondly, Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has so kindly reminded that the list of banned items can be found pinned to his door, which by now, should have been expanded thanks to _certain_ troublemakers,” Dumbledore glanced briefly to the redheaded twins in Gryffindor, “Thirdly, Quidditch tryouts begin next week, and any interested students should approach Madam Hooch for further instruction. And finally, this year the right side of the third-floor corridor is barred to everyone. Anyone who chooses to ignore this warning will find themselves staring Death in the face and leaving this world in a truly painful manner.”

 

Already, Harry could see red flags over this warning. He filed that bit of information away for future reference.

 

“Right, that is all from me. Off to bed with you all, and sleep well.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes at that.

 

The staff stood up from the seats and moved out of the Great Hall by the side entrances. Prefects from all four houses began herding their new first-year charges together to lead them towards their respective common rooms and dormitories for the night. Harry got up from his seat and joined his fellow first-years in front of two fifth-year prefects, who introduced themselves as Gabriel Truman and Elena Cognare. After doing a quick headcount to ensure everyone was accounted for (their eyes lingered over Harry), the two prefects led the new students out of the Great Hall towards a corridor. But before they could get far, Harry heard someone call out to him.

 

“Potter! Harry Potter!”

 

The entourage stopped. Harry inwardly grimaced. It was Malfoy.

 

Said ponce and his two bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle, approached him, the blonde smirking as if supremely confident. Harry steeled his expression into a neutral one.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I have to commend you, Potter, for concealing yourself until your sorting. Truly Slytherin of you, if I must say so myself,” Malfoy praised, though Harry knew right away it was far from genuine, “I am Draconis Lucius Malfoy, though most call me Draco. Even though you are in Hufflepuff, which is strange since normally all Potters go to Gryffindor, and I in Slytherin, I can foresee us becoming the best of friends. I can show you a lot of things, like how some people are much better than others. You don’t want to make friends with the _wrong_ sort of people, now do we?”

 

Malfoy offered his hand out. Harry glanced at the proposed handshake, but his mind was already made up. 

 

He discreetly clenched his fist, letting his magic shoot out and grab Malfoy by the collar of his robes. To the shock of his fellow Hufflepuffs, and others who just happened to be watching the scene, Malfoy was lifted a few inches off the ground, and quite violently thrown backwards, slamming into Crabbe and Goyle, sending the trio flying several feet across the floor.

 

Students gasped, and started whispering to one another hurriedly and excitedly. Malfoy fought to get himself disentangled from the much burlier bodyguards pinning him down. Picking himself up, he stared at Harry with a mix of shock and outrage. 

 

“You-”

 

“Shut your trap, you illegitimate son of a whore.”

 

More gasps. Harry glared down at a stunned Malfoy, lips twisted into a snarl.

 

“I _refuse_ to have anything to do with the inbred spawn of Death Eaters. Get the fuck out of my sight, you spoiled mistake of a human being.”

 

The jaws of those watching kept falling downwards. Malfoy’s temper exploded.

 

“How dare you?! When my father hears of this-”

 

“How dare me?” Harry raised an eyebrow, “You are just a spoiled, bigoted, egotistic bastard whom Father made with his harlot bitch to serve the psychopathic murderer called Voldemort,” he ignored the gasps at the name, “and to torture and kill innocents for your sick pleasure. Speaking of which, I’m sure while your father is not pleading the Imperious defense and bribing people to escape his crimes like the coward he is, he’s too busy being Voldemort’s cocksucker and teaching you how to do the same to listen to your complaints about how someone is not willing to listen to your nonsense on blood purity and has rebuffed you like the piece of shite that makes up your entire existence.”

 

The corridor had fallen silent, most too shocked to even comment on the scathing take-down by the Boy-Who-Lived against the scion of one of the most respected and feared wizarding families in Britain. Many would never even _dream_ of using such acerbic words against Malfoy over the fear of his father actually coming after them. But Harry Potter had just taken that fear, crushed it, spat on it, and kicked it out of the window like it was nothing to him.

 

Truly, Malfoy was nothing to him. And the blonde didn’t like that.

 

“You’ll pay for thi-”

 

Malfoy drew his wand, only for someone intervening before he could hex the cold look off of Potter.

 

“What is going on here?”

 

The watching students parted ways for McGonagall and Sprout.

 

“Professor, it’s Potter, he-” Malfoy tried to say.

 

“No it wasn’t!” Susan stepped forward, “Malfoy pulled his wand on Potter simply because Potter refused to buy into the pureblood dogma Malfoy was trying to corrupt him with!” The other first-year Puffs nodded in assent.

 

McGonagall eyed the wand that Malfoy was trying to hide from view. Her eyes narrowed.

 

“Fifteen points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy, and detention with Filch tomorrow night for drawing your wand on another student.”

 

“But Potter-”

 

“Another five points from Slytherin for talking back to a professor,” McGonagall cut in harsh, “It’s only the first day of the school year and you are already causing trouble for others. Now go to your dormitory or else I will assign you detention for the rest of the week.”

 

Seeing that he didn’t have a leg to stand on against the Gryffindor head-of-house, Malfoy begrudgingly nodded. He turned back, and gave Harry a glare, “This isn’t over, Potter.”

 

Harry merely rolled his eyes, watching impassively as the blonde ponce stalked away with Crabbe and Goyle following him, looking quite confused over what just happened. 

 

McGonagall turned to the watching students, “Return to your dormitories everyone, curfew will be in half an hour.” And on that note of finality, she walked off down the corridor.

 

Sprout approached Harry, “Are you alright, Mr. Potter?”

 

“Just peachy, Professor,” Harry nodded back. He turned to Susan, “Thank you for your support, Bones.”

 

“I-It’s nothing, Potter,” the strawberry-blonde girl scratched her cheek, a faint blush spreading across her face, “Us Hufflepuffs stand up for one another in times of need.”

 

Harry grunted. He turned to the rest of his fellow first-years and the prefects, “I believe Professor McGonagall’s instructions are to be followed.”

 

“Ah, right,” Gabriel quickly cleared his throat, “So anyway, the common room is this way…”

 

Watching her new charges follow their prefects down the corridor, Sprout released a breath. Everything seemed to be in order, despite the hiccup with Malfoy. Nodding to herself, she turned around in the same direction that McGonagall went. She had a meeting with the Headmaster along with the other heads-of-houses, no doubt over the boy she just checked over.

 

* * *

 

Down a flight of marble stairs and passing through corridors and hallways (some hidden behind tapestries and others requiring a second look to locate them), followed by another flight of stairs (this one made of stone), the prefects and first-years passed a large still-life portrait of fruit, before coming to a stop in front of a stack of barrels. At the back of his mind, Harry knew they had just passed the Kitchens, and he made a mental note to visit it before bed tonight.

 

He shifted his focus back to the prefects.

 

“Now, unlike the rest of the houses here in Hogwarts,” Elena told the first-years, “our common room doesn’t require the use of passwords or the correct answer to riddles in order to enter. Too much trouble remembering different words or phrases all the time.”

 

“What we do as Puffs is a little more unique,” Gabriel added, before turning to the barrels, “In order to enter the common room, you first need to find the right barrel, which is two from the bottom, middle of the second row.” He laid his hand on the specific barrel. The first-years nodded. “To open the doorway, you must tap the barrel in the rhythm of ‘Helga Hufflepuff’, like so.” He tapped the barrel five times, after which it opened.

 

“Um...what happens if you get it wrong? Or if you tap the wrong barrel by mistake?” Hannah spoke up.

 

“It will do you good to memorise which is the correct barrel and the correct rhythm,” Elena replied, “You don’t want to be doused in vinegar and barred entry now, would you?”

 

A look at his fellow first-years made it clear that they didn’t want such a fate to befall them.

 

Gabriel knelt down, and started to crawl through the open barrel, “Anyway, follow me everyone. Time to show you the common room.”

 

He crawled through the opening, disappearing from sight. Elena followed him, and one by one, the first-years followed her through the opening. Harry went in last. The tunnel he crawled through appeared to be made of stone, but it was soft to the touch, like foam.

 

‘At least they had the foresight on this,’ Harry thought to himself, ‘Saves us the trouble of scraped palms and knees.’

 

The sounds of awe from his fellow first-years reached his ears before he had even entered the room proper. When he did so, he could understand why, though he didn’t see the need to be amazed as well.

 

The Hufflepuff common room was large and circular, with a high, domed ceiling with a glass sky-light at the centre. Directly below the sky-light, was a tall tree with hanging branches thick with foliage in a stone planter. There were other plants and flowers dotted the room, some in pots or vases, others hanging in bowls from the walls or from the ceiling. Just below the domed ceiling, circular windows were cut from the walls, with yellow curtains drawn around them. Across the room from the students, there was a fireplace with a roaring flame, a large portrait of Helga Hufflepuff and her cup hanging over it. In front of the fireplace were three overstuffed sofas dyed yellow and black, surrounding a polished wooden coffee table. Around the room, upholstered chairs and tables of the same kind of honey-coloured wood dotted the place, as were a few mahogany bookshelves. Everything was lit by candlelight, hung from metal chandeliers around the room, and from the moonlight and stars shining through from the windows.

 

Even if Harry wasn’t impressed as his fellow first-years, he had to admit the room had a very homely feel to it.

 

Gabriel then addressed the first-years with a speech about house traditions, symbolism, defining characteristics and famous past students like Newt Scamander, the entirety of which Harry couldn’t really be bothered to listen. His thoughts were on other things, primarily about having a word with the house-elves about the food and getting some sleep.

 

Once they were dismissed by the prefects and pointed to where their dormitories awaited them, Harry joined his male compatriots to the left side of the room where a round door stood before them. Down a set of winding stairs led to a corridor with wooden doors on both sides. Harry spotted his room (pointed out by a copper name-plate on the door with ‘POTTER’ emblazoned on it), and without so much as a word to his new housemates, opened the door and stepped into his new room.

 

To put things simply, it was basic. Four walls, a four-poster bed with patchwork quilts, draped with translucent yellow curtains; a dresser, and an armchair. A single circular window was charmed to view the world outside of the castle, despite the fact that the dormitories were underground. A single metal lantern burned overhead. And his trunk was sitting by the foot of the bed.

 

Harry opened his trunk, and stepped inside it. After a few minutes, he returned with several tagged cookbooks filled with recipes from the different immigrant communities living in Britain - Chinese, Indian, Japanese, Middle-Eastern, Korean, etc. Closing the trunk with his foot and wandlessly locking it with a charm that will give any thief a nasty sting should they attempt to open it, Harry left his room back to the common room.

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, a certain manipulative headmaster was having a meeting with the four heads-of-houses up in his office, with the headmaster’s phoenix, Fawkes, observing. It was going about as well as one can expect when the topic shifted towards a certain Boy-Who-Lived.

 

“Albus, I don’t know what in the name of Merlin’s wrinkled skin possessed you to do something so foolish!” McGonagall tore right into him, “Everyone knows the Hat’s decision is infallible and binding. Just what was going through your brain?!”

 

The headmaster raised his hands placatingly, “I was merely shocked that young Harry was placed in Hufflepuff. I truly believed the Hat made a mistake, since his father went to Gryffindor, as did the rest of his family and ancestors before them.”

 

“So you thought yourself worthy of circumventing the Hat’s authority over some assumption?” Sprout asked incredulously.

 

“Again, it was my belief,” Dumbledore said patronisingly, which didn’t go unnoticed by the Herbology professor.

 

“And what about the sword?” Snape asked, features twisted into a scowl, “Surely you’re not going to let Potter walk around the school with that deadly blade among others?”

 

The headmaster was about to reply, but Flitwick interjected, “Mr. Potter is, by the old magical laws, legally allowed to carry his sword on his person wherever he goes. His status as Godric Gryffindor’s heir means that he will also have to been seen with it. To be seen without his sword without a good reason is a sign of embarrassment as heir.”

 

Snape just sneered, “Just what he needs, an extra boost to his over-inflated ego. Just like his-”

 

Sprout exploded, “Severus, if you finish that sentence, Merlin help you I will feed you to the Devil’s Snare I’m currently growing! I understand the bad blood between you and James Potter back in your school days, but it only shows your immense pettiness and narrow-mindedness that you use his innocent son as a target for your one-sided grudge! It also shows that you haven’t grown up from a foolish adolescent back when I was teaching you!”

 

Snape was on his feet in seconds, but before a heated duel could break out between the two professors, Dumbledore intervened, “Everyone please, calm down. There will be no wands drawn here in my office. Severus, sit down.”

 

Grumbling under his breath, the potion’s master did as he was told.

 

“Now barring any prejudices we might have,” Dumbledore glanced at Snape, “What do you think we can expect of young Harry?”

 

McGonagall spoke first, “We will treat him just like every first year. Just because he may be the Boy-Who-Lived doesn’t mean he is worthy of any special privileges or treatment. Academic-wise, it’s too early to tell, but I have a strong suspicion Mr. Potter will maintain at least above-average grades. From my observation, Mr. Potter didn’t seem all that surprised about magic, meaning he might have some knowledge prior to Hogwarts.”

 

Dumbledore nodded. He had observed the boy looking decidedly stoic when he entered the Great Hall along with the rest of the first-years, as if nothing about Hogwarts had him surprised or, at the very least, had him in awe. Normally, this would have been a warning sign that something hadn’t gone quite right with keeping the boy away from knowledge of his magical heritage. But Dumbledore waved off the niggling worry. While his deputy headmistress might have some credence in the belief that young Harry has some prior knowledge, he firmly believed that Petunia had softened her cruel, cold heart a little and had told Harry about her sister.

 

Ultimately, nothing really worth worrying over.

 

“As you said Minerva, just treat him like any other first-year. And tell him that if he has any concerns, our offices are all open to him,” Dumbledore replied with a note of finality, “Now, are there any other concerns before as adjourn for the night?”

 

“Yes Headmaster,” Snape turned on McGonagall, “What is it that I’m hearing from my charges that you have deducted points from Slytherin and assigned Draco Malfoy a detention with Filch tomorrow night?!”

 

The Scottish Transfiguration professor held her ground, “Pomona and I caught Mr. Malfoy drawing his wand on an unarmed student outside of the Great Hall, simply on the grounds of disagreeing with his blood purity vitriol.”

 

“And pray tell, was this unarmed student Potter?”

 

“I don’t see the point of it, but yes, it was Mr. Potter.” 

 

Snape sneered, “Clearly you didn’t see the entire picture. Potter must have said something to Malfoy, provoking or even goading him to use his wand against him.”

 

“Are you calling my Puffs liars, Severus Snape?!” Sprout exploded for the second time, standing up so violently she knocked her chair backwards, startling Fawkes, “Susan Bones clearly said that Malfoy drew his wand on Potter simply for disagreeing with him, with the rest of the first-years agreeing with her! And Bones is as far from a liar as I don’t expect Malfoy to be!”

 

“You and your house’s sense of loyalty, even when it’s used to cover up-”

 

“Finish that sentence and I will personally castrate you right here and now!” Sprout drew out her own wand.

 

For the second time, Dumbledore had to intervene, “Enough! Pomona, please! Don’t resort to violence! And Severus, I expected better of you. You’re letting your grudge against young Harry cloud your better judgement!”

 

Silence filled the office. Fawkes ruffled his feathers back into place. Sprout kept her wand away, but remained standing. Snape just looked to the side, muttering darkly.

 

“Clearly,” Dumbledore sighed, “young Harry is a tension-point that requires calmness and rational thinking to handle, something that I feel is unachievable tonight. As it is, Mr. Malfoy’s detention will still stand, since he did draw his wand on Harry. Now, it’s getting late, and we’re all exhausted. This meeting is adjourned, I will call for you all again in due time.”

 

With a ‘hmph!’, Snape got up from his seat, and departed from the office, robes billowing. One by one, the other three heads-of-houses followed him out of the office. Once the door had closed behind McGonagall, Dumbledore sighed. 

 

Sitting back on his seat, the headmaster thought about Harry’s unexpected sorting. While it was slightly more difficult now to control his weapon’s movements and actions since the boy was now in a house where his influence didn’t spread as far as it was in Gryffindor, Dumbledore was still confident that despite this little blip, his plans were still intact.

 

Dumbledore stifled a yawn. He too should be off to bed soon, but first, a quick run-through of his plans for Harry’s first year. He may be the wisest and most powerful wizard in the world, but it wouldn’t hurt him to double-check to make sure everything was in order.

 

From his perch, Fawkes eyed his owner with a hint of disgust.

 

* * *

 

While the meeting was in progress, Harry stood before the still-life painting of fruit that served as the doorway to the Kitchens. 

 

Glancing to both sides to make sure he wasn’t being watched, Harry reached up towards the painting, his fingers scratching against the pear. It let out a giggling sound, before morphing into a door handle. Harry pushed it down, swinging the portrait open like a door. 

 

A blast of hot air and noise greeted him. Harry stepped inside, quickly closing the door behind him.

 

The Hogwarts Kitchens took up a room that was as big as the Great Hall, with a high, vaulted ceiling. Brass pans and pots lined the walls perpendicular to a large fireplace at one end, the remaining space taken up by four tables that resembled the house tables in the Great Hall (though not as long) and what looked like a cross between a modern restaurant kitchen and medieval fittings. Stoves and ovens were running, water was boiling, ingredients being mixed together and cooked, all by a large army of house-elves working away like a well-oiled machine.

 

Harry watched the unfolding action impassively. He didn’t want to put a stop to all of this, but how was he able to get their attention?

 

His problem was solved when a lone house-elf, carrying a basket full of potatoes, happened to glance in his direction as it passed by. It froze mid-step, eyes travelling upwards towards Harry’s blue-ringed emerald irises.

 

“You be who?”

 

Harry knelt down to the elf’s level, “I am Harry Potter. I’m a first-year student. Can you help me?”

 

The elf’s line of sight zeroed in on the sword strapped to Harry’s back. It’s eyes widened, the basket of potatoes falling out of it’s knobbly hands, the fruit of the earth spilling out and rolling all over the floor.

 

“T-Tiffy can’t believe it…”

 

One by one, house-elves that were previously at busy with work stopped what they were doing, all turning towards Harry and this Tiffy elf.

 

The first-year sighed, this was the Great Hall all over again.

 

“Tiffy cannot believe his eyes...the Sword of Gryffindor...t-that means…”

 

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes, might as well get it over with, “Yes, Tiffy, I am the Heir of Gryffindor.”

 

The elf burst into tears of joy, “Oh happy day! Happy day today! The Heir of Gryffindor is be returning to Hoggywarts!”

 

Like a chain-reaction, the elves all burst into shocked commotion. Many abandoned their work stations and rushed towards Harry, crowding around his legs to get a glimpse of the famous sword strapped to his back. When it became clear that their eyes were not deceiving them, the elves burst into euphoric celebration, praising whatever that was holy for the glorious return of the heir of one of the founders. Just like the Hufflepuff students previously, the elves ambushed him, squealing their names and offering their services in their mad rush of excitement. Plates of cookies, biscuits, cakes, pastries and even Sunday roast appeared and were offered up to him.

 

Harry blinked, inwardly sighed, before yelling, “SILENCE!”

 

All noise cut off in an instant.

 

“Thank you,” Harry continued, “Now, I thank you all for being wonderful house-elves,” a chorus of happy cheers, Harry raised his hand for silence, “but I don’t need any food right now. What I do need, however, is your help.”

 

Again, that started a whole another wave of excited squealing as elves left, right and centre offered themselves to assist the “great and good heir” in whatever he needed, to the point that the elves were now arguing amongst themselves over who should do the honours. Harry had to raise his hand for silence again.

 

“You don’t need to fight over it. I will need multiple elves to help anyway.”

 

Harry presented the cookbooks he brought with him, “No offense to your cooking skills, but I am not able to eat many of the dishes at dinner tonight because they are not beneficial to my health if I eat them constantly. I did, however, annotate specific breakfast, lunch and dinner meals from these cookbooks that won’t jeopardise my health in the long run. I would need your help in preparing these dishes for me everyday. Can I trust you all to do so?”

 

He placed the books on the floor. Tiffy used magic to make the books hover and distributed them among his fellow elves. The next few minutes were spent by the elves leafing to the tagged pages and discussing amongst themselves.

 

The books were then closed, and Tiffy turned to Harry, “We lowly house-elves be doing as you say, good and honourable heir. We also be at your call. Just call for any of us, we be there to serve your needs.”

 

Harry nodded, “Very well, I thank you all for help.”

 

There was a collective gasp from the elves, followed by loud, tearful cheers, “Oh happy day! Joy to all! The great and honourable heir thanks us lowly house-elves! Happy day! Happy day!!!”

 

Harry let the elves continue their celebrations, taking advantage of their distracted states to slip out of the Kitchens. Stepping back into the corridor, Harry quickly closed the portrait behind him, not wanting the noise to attract the attention of any patrolling prefects or professors.

 

Quickly, he hurried down the corridor towards the stacks of barrels. He knelt before the barrel Gabriel had pointed out - two from the bottom, middle of the second row - and tapped it as described by the prefect earlier. The lid opened, and Harry quickly crawled in before anyone could spot him.

 

Stepping into the common room, Harry did a quick scan. There were only a few stragglers dotted about the room, none of whom had noticed his arrival ten minutes after curfew. Harry blended into the shadows to not be seen as he went round the room, only releasing the breath he had been holding in once he closed the dormitory door behind him and descended the stairs. He slipped into his bedroom without anyone being the wiser.

 

Wandlessly locking the door, Harry stifled a yawn. It had been a long day, and he was finally in Hogwarts. That meant that he would be in the same castle as Dumbledore. Just as Jacob had told him, the manipulative son of a bitch would now be setting his sights on him. He had to be careful now that he was within the bastard’s sphere of influence.

 

What was that quote again, from Alastor Moody?

 

Oh, right. Constant Vigilance!

 

Harry went over to dresser, and unbuckled the scabbard, placing it on top. He undid his wand holster and placed it next to the scabbard, taking his wand with him to his bed. Placing his wand next to the pillows, Harry stripped off his clothes down to his boxers, tossing the clothes over the armchair for the house-elves to wash. He also pulled his hair tie off, releasing his waist-length hair to fall freely down to the hem of his boxers. 

 

Slipping under the covers, Harry shifted to find a comfortable spot. Raising a hand out, he snapped his fingers at the lantern, extinguishing the candle and plunging the room into darkness. He then cast a modified _tempus_ charm that would wake him up at the crack of dawn, as per his custom.

 

Rolling to his side, Harry closed his eyes, and let Morpheus slowly pull him into the gentle quiet of slumber. 

 

He had survived the first night. Now it was tomorrow he had to face.

* * *

**To Be Continued.**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, as before, since I’m on quite the Harry Potter-roll, this is probably the fastest I’ve ever updated a story (bar Vestiges of Normalcy, since it was already uploaded on FF.net when I brought it over to AO3, so that doesn’t count).
> 
> So let's see, we have our first instances of Malfoy's humiliation, Snape getting owned, a protective Sprout, and Dumbledore's stupidity, am I forgetting anything?
> 
> The description of the Hufflepuff Common Room was inspired from this painting by Reddit user EliottChacoco. The painting can be found here: https://www.reddit.com/r/harrypotter/comments/c7qi1v/painting_made_by_me_hufflepuff_common_room/
> 
> Also, I would like to make a quick shoutout to FotoDi for their suggestion about a house-elf army at Harry's disposal. There will be moments where Harry will rally his house-elves to action, so be on the lookout!
> 
> So now about the story...
> 
> Despite my best efforts, I feel a bit iffy about certain parts of this chapter, especially about the staff meeting. I tried to form Dumbledore’s words into the manipulation mold, but I can’t help but wonder if it could be improved in any way. 
> 
> That’s where I need your help, dear readers. Your feedback will be essential in the improvement for this chapter, especially over characters and their way of speech.
> 
> That being said, I would also need your feedback on the subsequent chapters of this story and my other stories. Don’t get me wrong, I am always heartened by your praise, but I am no J. K. Rowling, the standard of my writing isn’t quite up there yet. I need to keep improving, so your honest feedback and suggestions are extremely important as well as any praise.
> 
> So yeah, that’s currently all from me for now. As usual, the same protocol stands. Your feedback and kudos are greatly appreciated, flaming of any sort will not be tolerated.
> 
> Cheers everyone, let’s hope for a good week ahead.
> 
> SilentGhostWriter2017


	7. Of Tundras, Training and Ogling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets the mysterious avian in the flesh, continues his physical training in Hogwarts, and becomes the subject of many an ogle from those of the female gender.

_Harry knew something wasn’t quite right when his eyes opened to the sound of not his modified_ Tempus _charm ringing, but of the wind howling._

 

_First of all, his room window was charmed, there was no way the wind could get underground. And second of all, summer had just ended, with the beginnings of autumn setting in. There was no way possible that wind of such ferocity could have made its presence so early in the year._

 

_Add that to the fact that Harry found himself lying on what appeared to be a mound of snow, with even more of the frozen water flakes gently falling from the black above, instead of his bed in the Hufflepuff dormitory in Hogwarts, and one could really be sure that the situation should be one for concern, if not suspicion._

 

_Sitting up, with snow falling from his head down his hair, Harry looked around._

 

_It appeared that he was in some kind of tundra not unlike what can be found in the frigid lands of Siberia in the dead of winter. He could see hibernating, leafless trees with snow piling on the straggly branches, standing tall among their evergreen conifer brethren in clumps, also blanketed by a layer of snow. The trees were the only signs of life in this barren landscape, the rest was just filled with snow as far as his eyes could see._

 

_The wind was blowing through, evident from the swaying of the trees, the angle of which the snowflakes were falling, and the flurries of snow being swept up and away by the moving air. But despite that, Harry felt none of the biting cold that would have been brought from the frigid wind._

 

_Even more strangely, the snow under and over his body didn’t feel cold to the touch at all. It was most peculiar, since it defied all sorts of laws of nature and such._

 

_Harry slowly got to his feet, the snow falling off his body to the ground. Even though the frozen water was not cold, it was still somewhat solid matter. Harry blinked when he felt the snow rush past his bare skin, and looked down._

 

_Ah…now he knew why._

 

_He was stark naked, just like the day he was born._

 

_It only added to the strangeness, since he knew he went to bed with his boxers on._

 

_Modesty aside, Harry had more pressing issues. Namely, where in the ever-loving fuck was he?_

 

_He took a step forward. The snow was rather deep, going halfway up his calves. Walking was going to be difficult, but at this point, that was all he could think of doing. He had no idea where he was, and there was no sign of civilisation for as far as the eye could see. And even though he was somehow unaffected by what should be below zero temperatures, there were other ways he could meet his end in such an environment - starvation, possible animal or creature attack, you get the picture._

 

_And so, it was one step after the other. Harry trudged aimlessly, no way of knowing which direction he was headed towards. He had also lost track of time by this stage, easily minutes to hours could have passed and he would be none the wiser. The surroundings have not changed in any significant way - just snow for miles, and the occasional clump of trees._

 

_Harry sighed. He was truly lost._

 

_Coming to a stop between two large mounds of snow, he wondered if his situation could get any weirder._

 

Harry…

 

_Harry started. What the-_

 

Harry…

 

_Harry stilled. His name was being called. From where and what, he didn’t know. He tried to think, could it be the wind? It was still blowing around him after all…_

 

Harry…

 

_Oh who was he kidding? Whatever was calling him, it was definitely not the wind. And no, he wasn’t going mad and hearing things, thank you very much. The voice was definitely real. But it was far from human, too ethereal and spiritual to match any person he might have known. And yet, there was something familiar about that voice, like he had heard it from somewhere in the past._

 

Harry...I’m here…

 

_Harry chewed his lips in thought. The voice carried something that, deep down, he knew he would never experience. Never before, and not now._

 

_It was a mother’s reassurance to her child, that no matter what was plaguing the young one, from the dull ache of a bruised knee, to the lingering agony from the beatings of a power-hungry, ego-maniacal father whose pride meant no satisfaction, and therefore more beatings from a monster striving to live his dreams through his child, irregardless of the young one’s suffering, she was there for them. A comfort in a world of pain, no matter if it was only temporary or seemingly endless. Someone for the child to hug to tide over the ache, to immerse in the soothing warmth of a parent who would go to the ends of the world to protect their offspring from the evils of the world. That was what his mother did for him, only to fall off the ends of the world by the hands of an evil psychopath. But it was her love that saved him that night, and it was the memory of his mother that appeared when the magic in his wand destroyed Ollivander’s shop._

 

_And that was right before…_

 

Harry…

 

_All of a sudden, it was as if everything made sense, even if Harry didn’t quite understand some important details as of yet._

 

_But what he did understand though, was why he was here, in the middle of this icy tundra, with the wind growing progressively louder and stronger, kicking up the snow on the ground and throwing the falling snowflakes into disarray. As a blizzard came roaring in with increasingly-apocalyptic force, the wind roaring like a deranged beast threatening to destroy his ear drums, his hair flying all over the place, Harry clenched his fists and stared hard into the whirlwind of snow._

 

_“Who are you?”_

 

Harry…

 

_“Show yourself!”_

 

_His shout could barely be heard over the deafening howl of the wind. But it was enough for something to happen._

 

_The already-blinding snow, rushing around him at breakneck speeds, began swirling even more erratically as if responding to his call. The wind has gathered so much speed, Harry could barely see from his hair flying in his face along with the snow._

 

_Then out of the blue, echoing louder than even the wind itself, came a powerful, and haunting, avian-like roar._

 

_The whirling snow seemed to coalesce into a shape, growing larger and larger and brighter with each passing moment. There was a blinding flash, forcing Harry to shield his eyes and look away, followed by another ferocious roar, and the loud tinkling of crystal._

 

_Once the glow had faded from his eyelids, Harry deigned himself to open his eyes. He blinked, and drew in a sharp breath._

 

_‘Oh Merlin…’_

 

_It was the same avian creature that appeared to him in both occasions back at Ollivander’s shop. Only this time, it wasn’t just a silhouette, it had come to him in the flesh, and in all of its majestic glory._

 

 _Harry thought it was huge when he saw it the first two times. But those times were nothing compared to what he was seeing now. The avian seemed to encompass virtually the entire blackness that seemed to be the sky, only this time it was no longer just black. Pulsating and undulating across the only darkness, the vibrant and shining colours and lights of the_ Aurora Borealis _streaked in waves, providing a heavenly backdrop against the unearthly creature. It’s body was thick with muscle underneath beautiful feathers of different shades and hues of blue - from as light as almost-white to the darker glows of cerulean and turquoise. A thick neck downed with feathers and a proportional head with glowing eyes and a sturdy beak topped off the powerful body, a crest of aqua-blue flickering from the head down the length of the neck like tongues of blue fire. Down at the end of the muscular legs, were a pair of deadly-looking talons sharp enough to slice through the strongest metals. Expansive wings filled the sky, feathers starting smooth inside and ending as sharp as blades, topped white and crystal, descending into shades of icy-cerulean and turquoise. A tail of sharp feathers, with four longer, trailing feathers ending in a diamond shape, in a blend of different shades of blue completed the breath-taking appearance._

 

_It flapped its wings languidly, creating great gushes of wind that blew the snow all over the place. Glowing eyes gazed down at the boy below, regarding him with cold calmness._

 

_Several moments of silence persisted, only then did Harry find his voice._

 

_“What are you?”_

 

_The avian continued to gaze at him._

 

Soon, Harry...soon. The truth will be revealed in due time. Your world awaits, it is time to wake.

 

_The huge creature unfurled its wings, and released an almighty roar. The entire world shook. It’s body suddenly burst with light, enveloping everything with blinding brightness._

 

_…_

 

_…_

 

Harry shot up with a gasp, his _Tempus_ charm going off in his ears.

 

He glanced about with slightly confused eyes. No longer was he in the winter tundra with the avian. He was back in his room in the Hufflepuff dormitory. It was still relatively dark from the charmed window, the setting moonlight casting a dim glow over the room. 

 

Harry cancelled the charm, returning the room to silence. He sat in his bed, deep in thought.

 

Instinctively, he knew that whatever he saw and witnessed in the winter tundra was no dream. It was too real, as if he had stepped into an alternate dimension or a pocket reality. And that enormous avian...it further solidified that his experience really did happen. He would have to deny that the previous two experiences back in Ollivander’s shop actually happened if he wanted to delude himself into thinking that the third time was only a mere fantasy. 

 

But yet, at the same time, the elephant in the room remained unresolved. What _was_ that avian creature? Why didn’t it tell him what it was right away? What did it symbolise? Harry knew that it was somehow connected to the power he absorbed back when he got his wand, but in what sense? What did that power entail? How did he go about using it? Did he even know what it was?

 

There were many questions, but no answers. But that didn’t hold Harry down. He knew that sitting around thinking about it with no leads to go on wouldn’t get him anywhere. 

 

And besides, his training awaited. Just because he was now a Hogwarts student didn’t mean he was going to slack off. 

 

Jacob would have his arse if he caught wind of it.

 

Tossing the blankets aside, Harry slipped out of bed, stretching his joints with soft ‘pops’. As he went to get his training gear and clothes ready for the new day, he failed to notice that a patch of his mattress was covered in ice.

 

* * *

 

“Ah, Heir Potter, good morning to you. And I must say, you’re up early.”

 

Harry had just stepped into the empty common room when the Hufflepuff house ghost, the Fat Friar, suddenly appeared before him in thin air.

 

“Good morning, good Friar, indeed I am,” the lad nodded monotonously, “Is there a problem?”

 

“Not at all, Heir Potter,” the ghost chuckled, “I just happened to sense some activity, and wanted to greet the early-risers. A simple ‘good morning’ can lift the spirits of an individual for the rest of the day, you know?”

 

Harry nodded, “I can understand that.”

 

“Now, where are you off to?” the Friar asked, eyeing Harry’s attire - a leather tunic tied at the waist by a belt, a pair of metal-tipped boots with straps, and the scabbard holding the famous sword strapped across his torso. The lad also had a leather bag slung over his shoulder.

 

“To the Great Lake,” Harry replied simply.

 

“Well, don’t let me stop you, Heir Potter,” the Friar smiled, sweeping to the side, “Off you go, and let me just say that it is a true honour to have you here in Hufflepuff.”

 

Harry nodded, before making his way towards the barrel door.

 

In the silence of the early morning, many of the portraits were awoken from their slumber from Harry’s footsteps as he traversed through the hallways. Those who saw him quickly woke up their fellow portraits, excited to see the Heir of Gryffindor gracing their presence. Many bowed or curtsied. Some offered directions to where he was going, or to warn him of any danger, particularly a certain most-hated caretaker and decidedly-unpleasant cat. Harry acknowledged their help, but politely turned them down. He had no trouble finding his way to the surface and the Entrance Hall, but thanked them nonetheless.

 

The grounds of Hogwarts were still relatively dark when Harry slipped out of the castle, even though the moon was more than halfway down the horizon by then. The autumn breeze was blowing across the fields and the Great Lake, setting temperatures into a cold chill that would have sent the average person wrapping a few layers of clothing tightly around them and hurrying for the warmer indoors. But again, Harry felt nothing except for the wind blowing past his exposed skin and through his hair, the loose ponytail lifting up and fluttering in waves. It was quite a nice feeling, if he wanted to be honest.

 

Arriving at the edge of the lake, Harry slipped his bag to the ground, casting a notice-me-not charm over it. He was quite certain nothing was going to come and steal it, but best be on the safe side. 

 

He did a full-body stretch to warm up his muscles, and off he went on a fast jog along the banks of the lake. 

 

It would be three whole rounds around the lake before Harry came to a stop, his skin shining with a slight shimmer of sweat and muscles glowing with heat from the exertion. By then, the moon was long gone, and the first vestiges of sunlight began to saturate the darkness. He pulled a large water bottle from his bag, and took large swigs to rehydrate himself. Keeping it away, Harry pulled out an ankle-length muggle swimsuit - black with icy-blue stripes running down the legs -, a black swimming cap, and a pair of tinted goggles. Harry then undid the scabbard, stripped off his tunic and boxers, and kicked off his boots. He slid into the swimsuit with little difficulty. It was getting the cap on that required a bit more effort, having to wind his ponytail around the back of his temple and then stretch the cap over his head. But this was something he had practiced many times over the years, so he ultimately had no trouble. 

 

Snapping the goggles around his head and eyes, Harry made sure to strap his wand holster around his waist as an extra safety precaution. He stretched his body again, and stepped into the calm waters of the lake.

 

At this time of the year, the temperature of the lake was beginning to match the surrounding air temperature in coolness. For most people, swimming in a water body the size of the Great Lake in progressively colder temperatures would be inadvisable and the person doing so probably labelled ‘insane’. 

 

Harry was not like most people, however. In fact, like with the breeze, he felt nothing as he immersed himself up to the waist. Releasing a breath, Harry dived forward into the water.

 

Visibility was a bit cloudy thanks to the silt kicked up when Harry started swimming out into the lake. His view quickly cleared once he had swum away from the shallows and into deeper water.

 

He had to admit that swimming in a natural body of water was somewhat different than doing so in a pool, as he had done for the past several years. Still, there was a strange sense of freedom that couldn’t be achieved by swimming up and down the predetermined length of a man-made pool. 

 

Perhaps it was the much larger size of the lake, or the freedom to use magic against any water creatures trying to be funny with him, and the fact that he was alone. Harry did prefer solitude to the company of most people, after all. When he didn’t have to be mindful of others, he could truly focus on himself and what he had to do.

 

In this case, maintaining his strenuous exercise routine.

 

He had planned to swim the entire length of the lake four times, each for a different swimming stroke, preferably before sunrise and breakfast. 

 

Well, best get on with it then.

 

* * *

 

Susan Bones usually considered herself an early-riser, having gotten used to waking up early in the morning to have breakfast with her aunt Amelia before she had to go to work at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry. 

 

Yet this normal routine had a sad edge to it. Her aunt was her only family left, after her parents and the rest of her extended family were either killed or had gone missing during the last wizarding war. 

 

Susan tried to reconcile with that haunting fact by looking forward to what the new day had to offer. Now that she was in Hogwarts, there were things to look forward towards, even more so because the Boy-Who-Lived had just been sorted into Hufflepuff.

 

Plus, he had actually spoken and thanked her for coming to his side against Malfoy the night before! It was for a brief moment, but Susan could already tell from up close that Potter was no ordinary eleven-year-old boy.

 

He was far taller than she had expected, very broad-shouldered, and his eyes, while hard and cold, still had such a dreamy effect to the pools of emerald that she felt off-kilter just from the proximity, like an iron nail just before being attracted to a magnet. If her aunt hadn’t drilled into her the respect for others’ personal space and boundaries, she would have latched onto Potter like a parasite and never let go.

 

And perhaps ask to be his girlfriend...then his wife…

 

Susan flushed, and smacked her cheeks repeatedly.

 

Okay...she was thinking far too much now. They were only eleven for Merlin’s sake!

 

And besides, her family never followed the Old Ways strictly...though that could also be why most of them were targeted in the last war…

 

She sighed. She was letting her thoughts run amok again. 

 

Best get ready for breakfast and the first day of lessons. 

 

As Susan slipped out of her nightgown and was in the midst of putting her new Hufflepuff uniform on, there came knocking on her door.

 

_“Susan? Are you ready?”_

 

“Almost Hannah!” she called back, “Just doing up my tie!”

 

The blonde quickly finished sorting herself up. Grabbing her school bag from her bed, she hurried for the door.

 

“Took you long enough,” Hannah quipped jokingly.

 

“You just do things insanely fast,” Susan shot back.

 

“And isn’t that supposed to be a good thing?”

 

“Not when it causes you to trip over yourself.”

 

It was nice to have Hannah as a friend. Her aunt couldn’t be there all the time due to work from the DMLE, so things occasionally got a bit lonely. Luckily, Hannah and her parents always accommodated her during those times her aunt had to be away. And besides, the stories Hannah’s muggle father would tell them about the muggle world up till now has her fascinated.

 

Like how the Muggles didn’t use torches or candles as their main source of light at night, instead using something called electricity that produces light from an unknown source. Or how they don’t use brooms or the Floo Network to move about, utilising some kind of transportation that uses the power of horses on a number of wheels. 

 

But that was neither here nor there. Susan was beginning to feel peckish, and the wonderful smells of freshly-cooked breakfast beckoned.

 

Though something was about to break that sirenic call.

 

Susan and Hannah were just about to reach the Entrance Hall, when the sound of splashing reached the former’s ears. They happened to pass by a window when Susan suddenly stopped in tracks, attention piqued by the unexpected noise.

 

“Susan? What’s the matter?”

 

The strawberry-blonde approached the window, and looked out. The window overlooked the grounds and part of the Great Lake, and Susan could spot something moving through the calm waters. 

 

At first, she couldn’t quite see what it was, thanks to the sunlight reflecting off the undulating water, and because it was swimming just below the surface. Squinting her eyes, Susan watched as the subject of her attention breaking the surface with a crash. She made out a head, part of a torso, and two arms spreading outwards with unexpected ferocity, before the figure disappeared back into the water with another splash. 

 

“Susan?” Hannah joined her friend by the window.

 

“There’s something swimming in the lake.”

 

“The Giant Squid?”

 

“No, it’s human, I’m sure of it,” Susan insisted, “Oh! Look! There it is again!”

 

She pointed towards the lake, Hannah following her finger. The figure had just broken through the surface again, surging forwards with its arms lashing outwards with slicing strength. 

 

“Who would be swimming in the Great Lake, of all places?” Hannah asked incredulously, “Isn’t it filled with dangerous creatures?”

 

“Well they certainly don’t think so,” Susan replied, “That, or they are-”

 

The strawberry-blonde’s voice died by what she saw next. The figure had just reached the shallows of the lake. With a deluge of water falling, it stood up to full height. 

 

Susan’s mouth began to dry.

 

“Oh...Merlin…!”

 

Hannah’s jaw fell open, as her eyes widened, “Holy fuck…!”

 

The figure, clearly male, was _ripped._ His arm muscles were big, as were his shoulders and leg muscles, the latter providing a tantalising stretch over the muggle swimsuit hugging the legs like a second skin. His pectorals were defined, droplets of water rolling down the skin over abdominal muscles in an almost sinful manner that left the girls’ mouths even drier than the Sahara Desert. His back seemed to be sculpted from the greatest artists who have ever lived, the expanse of muscle flexing and rippling with every movement and stretch the young man made. And not to mention, the firm butt that left the watching girls red in the face.

 

It didn’t help that the male had bent downwards to pick something up from the ground, unknowingly sticking out his butt cheeks towards the two Hufflepuff first-years. If anything, their blushes became even darker.

 

“Forget about breakfast,” Susan croaked, stepping away from the window but keeping her eyes on the hunk of a young man, “I’m going down to talk to him. Maybe we are compatible and we can work something out for the future.”

 

The strawberry-blonde moved to hurry towards the Entrance Hall, only for her to be pulled back by the scruff of her robes.

 

“No no no, no way, Susan Bones,” Hannah interjected, “You’re just going to scare him off. Let me do the talking, I’m much more subtle, after all. He’ll be more receptive to me.”

 

“As if! I’m just going to have a friendly chat!” Susan retorted.

 

“Friendly chat my foot,” Hannah shot back, “You clearly want to claim him as your own!”

 

“As if you’re any better!”

 

The argument had started out jokingly, but it got increasingly heated as all pretense of fun ebbed away to unbridled emotion. As the volume rose, they began to attract the attention of several other early-risers making their way down to breakfast. Very soon, a sizeable crowd had formed, all curiously wondering what was happening and waiting for the metaphorical fuse to run out. It came really close, as it turned out. The two girls would have gone to blows or drawn out their wands out for an impromptu duel if someone hadn’t stepped in.

 

“What is going on here?”

 

Both Hufflepuffs froze. A sixth-year Ravenclaw prefect stepped out of the watching crowd approached them with a raised eyebrow.

 

“It’s Hannah,” Susan quickly said, taking glances out of the window, “She’s being difficult.”

 

“No!” Hannah rebutted, “It’s Susan! She’s the one being obstructive and getting in the way!”

 

The prefect raised her eyebrows even more, “Over what?”

 

Both girls suddenly lost their voices, their blushes returning full-force. Their eyes kept flitting over to the window though, clueing in the Ravenclaw prefect on the subject of their burgeoning argument. She pushed past the two Hufflepuffs, and stared out into the ground. For a few moments, she didn’t move, and the watching students began whispering curiously about what she could have seen.

 

Suddenly, as if forcefully tearing herself away from whatever had her enraptured, the prefect turned to Susan and Hannah. She cleared her throat, as if trying to compose herself back into order. Many of the watching students noted that she was blushing heavily.

 

“You two are too young to have such thoughts,” the prefect said with some semblance of authority, “And you should know that it is rude to stare at others. Be off to breakfast now, before I deduct points for harassment of another person. And that goes for all of you here as well.”

 

Both Hufflepuffs flushed, realising what they had been doing was going into inappropriate territory. With somewhat disheartened spirits, they turned away from the window and made a few steps towards the Entrance Hall. They stopped, however, when they heard the prefect mumble.

 

“Me on the other hand...I think I’ll go tap that sexy arse after everyone’s gone…”

 

Susan and Hannah turned on the prefect at the same time, “You hypocrite!”

 

Both girls lunged for the prefect, and like a dam collapsing, nothing holding back an apocalyptic surge of water racing forwards at high speed, the students watching the entire debacle rushed towards the window. The corridor echoed with shouts, screams and squeals as students fought one another to get a glimpse of what got the three girls all hot and bothered. Susan and Hannah found themselves pushed against the window sill, forced to fight against the dozen or so bodies trying to take their places. 

 

Susan rightly searched for a distraction before she and her friend were either sent tumbling out of the window or trampled to death.

 

As it turned out, the muscled young man that was the prized subject for attention did it for her. But at the same time, turned the situation in an entirely different direction.

 

His hand reached up, and pulled the black cap-like thing off from his head. Long, black hair tied in a ponytail slipped off from his head and fell to his waist. Susan started, she knew only one male who had that long of hair, and that was when she spotted the streak of blond among the black.

 

“No way…”

 

All ears and eyes were on the strawberry-blonde. The fighting stilled.

 

“What is it?” Hannah asked.

 

“That hair...it’s Potter!”

 

Everyone blinked, some checking their ears to make sure they heard the first-year right.

 

“C-Come again?” the prefect spluttered.

 

Hannah’s eyes shined with recognition, “It _is_ Potter!”

 

That started another round of pushing and shoving among the students to get a good look. Things would have devolved into chaos very quickly if it weren’t a new arrival suddenly appearing at the scene.

 

“What is going on here?”

 

A few jumped, the rest turned around. There stood Professor Flitwick, arms crossed over his chest, an expectant look towards the students.

 

“I-It’s nothing, Professor…” the prefect shifted a bit in embarrassment.

 

“Well, it clearly is something, given how you all nearly went to blows with one another over something that is happening outside the window, which I cannot see for that matter” the diminutive professor replied, stepping forwards, “And on that note, I would quite like to know what is the cause of this ruckus. Ms. Bones and Ms. Abbott, could you two help me up?”

 

The two Hufflepuffs did as they were told, and helped Flitwick up to the window sill. The Charms professor gazed out towards the lake. It didn’t take him long to locate the reason that got the students in a frenzy. And to his credit, he didn’t react to those muscles rippling and flexing.

 

Flitwick turned back to the students, “While I can understand your reactions and appreciation of Mr. Potter’s impressive physique, he is not an object to gawk over like how one would do in a museum. Mr. Potter is a Hogwarts student as you all, and for his sake, it would be best to treat him as a fellow classmate or schoolmate. Now, off to breakfast with you all. Your lessons will begin today, and it will be most unsatisfactory if any of you were late.”

 

The students all nodded, and dispersed towards the Great Hall. However, the whispered and excited conversations about Harry Potter’s muscles began picking up, and would no doubt spread to the rest of the school during breakfast. 

 

As for Susan and Hannah, they had no further chance to talk about their housemate’s mouth-watering musculature as they were suddenly accosted by several older students.

 

“Bones, Abbott,” said one Gryffindor third-year, “You’re in the same house as Harry Potter, aren’t you? Could you tell him that he looks hella fine and would he be so kind as to go on a date with me?”

 

“No!” a fourth-year Ravenclaw pushed her out of the way, “Harry would rather spend his time studying with me than getting into danger with you lot!” She turned to the two first-years, “Bones, Abbott, can you pass on the message to him that Loretta Moore from Ravenclaw needs a tutor for her Herbology studies? I’ll pay him by the hour.”

 

Susan and Hannah both wanted to point out that Potter was only a first-year like them, but got no room to speak as more girls pushed towards them, calling out requests in different forms to meet the Boy-Who-Lived. Eventually, the two just gave up, and tried to ignore the increasingly-vocal pleas from their schoolmates as they hurried towards the Great Hall.

 

Flitwick wondered whether he should intervene, but eventually figured to just monitor the situation. If it gets too out of hand and the girls actually become physical in their demands, then he’ll step in. 

 

One thing’s for certain though, the Charms professor thought to himself as he made his way to the Great Hall, was that even though it was only the first official day of the school-year, but already Heir Potter was already making waves among the students.

 

And judging from his observations of the lad during the Welcoming Feast the night before, he would have no trouble with the attention he was bound to get during the coming year.

 

Flitwick just hoped that Harry wouldn’t literally freeze his schoolmates out for just trying to be social with him. But given how he saw that shield used against the lad’s fellow housemates merely for introducing themselves to him, it might end up being wishful thinking on the half-goblin’s part.

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, down by the edge of the lake, Harry was strapping his scabbard on when he sneezed. For the third time. In three minutes.

 

Sniffing, he knew that it wasn’t from the cold, since all accounts so far has him immune to low temperatures in any setting. There was only one reason that could justify the sudden sneezing fit.

 

Someone, or someones, was talking about him.

 

Then again, Harry wasn’t surprised. He _was_ the topic of conversation ever since he stepped into this bloody death-trap of a castle. And he wasn’t blind to the fact that he was being watched from the windows of Hogwarts. It was no different to being stared at in the Great Hall the night before, but it wasn’t any less annoying.

 

Yet, he knew this was something he was going to have to put up with, especially when practical lessons started in earnest.

 

Harry sighed. He might as well get moving. Breakfast waited for no one, and he was starting to get ravenous.

 

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Harry trooped up the grounds back towards the castle for a quick shower, and to curtail his growling stomach.

 

* * *

**To Be Continued.**

* * *

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, so we're back again with another chapter. This one's mainly a filler, focusing on small plot-points that will have a bigger impact on the story in the long run, namely Harry meeting the avian creature properly for the first time, and answering the question of why he eats so much, and where does it all go into.
> 
> So let's start with the avian first. 
> 
> It doesn't have a specific name yet, nor is it related to any species of known bird - real or mythological. That said, it is greatly inspired by my most favourite mythological creature, the Phoenix. Now, a regular phoenix with fire is too mainstream, and it wouldn't fit into Harry's personality that well. Then, I came across a different variation called an Ice Phoenix, and I realised I had hit the jackpot. Here was a mythological creature I could work with, and after some research and contemplation, we arrive at the avian that has just shown itself to Harry.
> 
> (I was inspired by two particular images I found on the web. It is the first two images in Aminoapps page about the Ice Phoenix. Also note, the art is not mine. And can anyone spot the movie reference I snuck into the avian's physical description?)
> 
> And now on to Harry's training and physique.
> 
> This was inspired from the fanfic 'Harry Crow', where our protagonist undergoes years of goblin training and comes to Hogwarts with a body of "a young Ares who was obviously in training". Let's just say I am weak for buff!Harry, and I couldn't resist bulking him up for this story, what with being trained by Jacob and goblins in preparation for taking on Moldyshorts and his Death Eater scum. And because our boi has a swimmer's body, means he eats a lot in response.
> 
> (For reference, since my drawing skills leave much to be desired, I envisioned Harry's physique to be like Sousuke Yamazaki from Free! Edit 12/12/2019: I forgot to mention this previously, but Harry's muscles are proportional to his size, so my apologies for any confusion)
> 
> Lastly, with this chapter, comes the end of the Harry Potter-wave. This story will continue to be updated, but I'm now dividing my attention towards my other stories as well.
> 
> So yeah, that's all from me right now. As usual, the same protocol stands, your honest feedback and kudos are greatly appreciated, flaming of any sort will not be tolerated.
> 
> Cheers everyone :)
> 
> \- SilentGhostWriter2017

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone :)
> 
> This is the second Harry Potter fanfic that I had begun during the midst of my time in the Harry Potter fandom. Unlike Vestiges of Normalcy, I haven't put down much of what I wanted to write on paper, so a lot of the preliminary storyline has been lost to time. So updates will be even more sporadic, but I promise to deliver on this story to you guys here on AO3.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy the prologue. Kudos and comments are appreciated, flaming will not be tolerated.
> 
> \- SilentGhostWriter2017


End file.
